


Wingless

by Orcusnox (Cat9894)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Daredevil isn't until chapter 20, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mutilation, Panic Attacks, Peter Needs a Hug, Wingfic, people die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:43:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat9894/pseuds/Orcusnox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's out to get Peter Parker.</p><p>You get, like, three guesses as to who it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Бескрылый](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9222983) by [FSergeich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FSergeich/pseuds/FSergeich)



    Wingless know each other on sight. It doesn’t matter how many layers of clothing cover their backs, doesn’t matter if they purposely pad their clothes to make it look like they have wings tucked underneath. Wingless _know_.

    It’s a sense that Peter is glad the winged don’t have, otherwise the good people of New York would have one more reason to hate his guts, one more reason to call the boys in blue on him instead of noticing that he was just trying to help.

    There are, of course, wingless in the general populace of New York. Peter notices them from time to time, eyes drawn to their backs like a moth to flame. And they, of course, know he’s wingless. But they never say anything, probably because it’s an unspoken rule of politeness that you don’t go calling people out of their wingless status when they’re obviously trying to keep it a secret.

    And Peter’s sure there are people in New York who _think_ he’s wingless, if only because he’s never tried to emulate typical winged behaviour. When he’s angry, his wings don’t twitch underneath his skin (because he doesn’t have any, duh.) When he’s scared, his wings don’t twitch underneath his skin (again, because he doesn’t have any.) People pay attention to these kinds of things, and sometimes it sticks enough for a winged to realize someone else is wingless.

    He hasn’t had wings for a long time, and since he got his webs, he hasn’t had a reason to miss them. Flying through the air like he does always seems to be more _him_ than flying with wings, and Peter wonders if that’s only because he’s been dreaming of flying for so long.

    Because while he’s never learned to miss his wings, Peter missed the thought of flying.

 

* * *

 

    Tony Stark knows Peter’s wingless, but that’s because Tony is too. Way back when he was captured in Afghanistan, the militants there cut off his wings. He flaunts his wingless status, made his Iron Man suit and became everything everyone told him he couldn’t be.

    (Because he’s an asshole like that, and Peter can’t help but admire his tenacity.)

    Peter knows Tony hasn’t told the other Avengers, mainly because they don’t act differently around him. He’s pretty sure that they’re good enough guys that they _wouldn’t_ think less of him, but Peter’s been wrong about people before (MJ, in particular, had hit him hard. Harry… Well, Peter knew Harry was an insensitive ass at the best of times, but still. They’d been friends for _years_!)

    He likes to hang out in the Tower sometimes (in his suit) and chat with Tony and Jarvis. Pepper sometimes stops by, but Peter has to leave when she does because she and Tony inevitably get caught up in their own little world, and while it’s really, really sweet, Peter can’t handle that level of intimacy.

    Losing Gwen still hurts, even now.

 

* * *

 

    He’s swinging through the city one night when _it_ happens. Everything is normal – surprisingly, for a Friday, there hasn’t been much action. Which is equal parts disappointing and gratifying, because as much as he likes fighting crime, sometimes he just wants an easy night.

    It looks like tonight is going to be an easy night, he muses, landing against a wall. He stares out at the city for a while, paying close attention to his spider sense, waiting. Eventually, though, he zones out.

    Peter’s debating spending some of his extra cash on Mexican take out when the first bullet hits the wall to his left.

    He moves, skittering away from the bullet hole, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. There hadn’t been a warning, hadn’t even been a tingle from his spider sense and he’s freaking out _just a little_ because that’s never happened before and he’s too frantic to even start considering _where_ the bullet came from and he just runs and runs –

    Peter’s a second away from leaping from the roof when his spider sense tingles a warning down his spine and he stops, windmilling his arms to keep from falling. The second bullet passes a few feet in front of him – if he’d jumped, it would have hit him.

    Peter turns and runs in the direction the bullet’s gone, because the smartest thing he can do right now is get a building between himself and whoever it is that’s shooting at him. He dives over the edge just as bullet number three whizzes over him – if he hadn’t dropped, he’d probably be dead.

    The fourth – and last – bullet shatters two windows, coming out in the space between Peter’s arm and his ribs. He breathes out a shuddering breath, heart hammering in his chest like it wants to break free from behind his ribs. He stares at the hole for a moment, but when no more bullets rain down around him he turns and flees.

    The whole thing couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, but it takes Peter hours to calm down. He falls asleep just before dawn breaks, his back aching.

 

* * *

  

    When Peter mentions to Tony – accidentally – that he was shot at last Friday, the wingless billionaire is furious. If he had wings, they’d be flared wide, puffed up to make the other man even bigger. But he _doesn’t_ have wings, so he’s left wildly moving his arms and glaring, face so red Peter’s a little worried he’s about to have a heart attack or something.

    “You should have come straight here!” Tony yells, stabbing a finger at Peter’s chest. “This is the safest place in New York!”

    “While I find it flattering that you would say so, sir, I would like to point out –”

    “Jarvis, not the time,” Tony says tightly. “Listen, Spiderman, I know you don’t want people knowing your identity, but next time you get _shot at_ , come here. Because if you don’t and Pepper finds out… I am a dead man walking.”

    Peter can’t help but smile. “It was probably a one off anyway,” Peter says calmly. “Why would someone want to shoot me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally told you guys I had more wingfics planned. This one will be longer than Crow (it already is). Let me know what you think :D


	2. Chapter 2

    It’s not a one off, and Peter curses himself for ever saying such careless words.

    It’s not a Friday this time – it’s a Tuesday, and that makes Peter _very_ nervous because he’s suddenly realized that he has _patterns_ , predictable movements that probably makes whoever is tracking him laugh at the simplicity of it all.

    He can only hope that whoever is out to get him hasn’t followed him home.

    The first bullet hits his shoulder and is accompanied by his spider sense screaming bloody murder. Peter lands awkwardly on a roof, fingers clutching at his head instead of his shoulder. His body moves to the right, on autopilot because Peter is too busy trying to find his way back to his senses to dodge the next three bullets.

    Then there’s the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple, and Peter’s body freezes even as his spider sense picks up in frequency, high pitched and loud and it’s all white noise now.

    Peter’s never been so terrified.

    It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the person with the gun to his head is talking a mile a minute. He tries to focus enough to listen, but his spider sense is still screaming and something about the man holding him at gunpoint is _wrong_ , _so so wrong_ and he can’t figure out _why_ …

    “But I wouldn’t have picked you to be wingless!” Peter hears the man say, and he flinches back, because only other wingless can sense that but he _can’t tell_ if the man is wingless but he has to be because he knows. Unless the guy knows where Peter lives and has seen him without a shirt – which, by the way, is rude.

    Peter decides he’s had enough of standing around. He moves, dropping to the ground in a move that surprises the guy with the gun enough that Peter can swipe his legs out from under him. The gun goes off, but Peter doesn’t feel anything, so he assumes it hasn’t hit him.

    He can see Stark Tower in the distance, and with a parting kick at the guy’s ribs, runs in that direction.

 

* * *

  

    Bruce Banner is there this time, and Peter has never been happier to see the doctor. His shoulder is burning, the bullet still lodged in the muscles, and Peter knows he’s going to have a _fun_ time healing from this.

    “What happened?” Bruce asks, hurrying to his side.

    “Someone shot me,” Peter replies, indicating his bleeding shoulder.

    Bruce leads him to the couch, sits him down and takes a look. He whistles. “You’re lucky. This could have meant you losing the use of your arm.”

    Peter shakes his head. “I don’t think luck has anything to do with it,” he admits, just as Tony and Pepper burst into the room. Pepper’s mostly white wings are flared just enough to make Peter shrink away automatically.

    She notices his reaction, of course, and pulls her wings back in, her black secondaries creating a stark contrast with the rest of her wings. “Are you alright?” she demands.

    Peter winces. “Mostly?” he says, his voice questioning.

    “You got shot?” Tony asks, sounding surprised. “I thought you had a fancy warning system –”

    Peter nods, focusing on anything except the feel of Bruce’s fingers touching his shoulder. “It doesn’t work on this guy straight away, apparently,” he replies sullenly. “He needs to shoot at me first.”

    Tony mutters a curse that Peter hears perfectly fine. “Did you get a good look at him?”

    Peter hisses in pain when Bruce pulls the bullet out. “No,” he grits out. “But he’s a good shot, I know that much. And he doesn’t shut up. He just kept _talking and talking_.”

    The silence is telling. They all know who’s after him, and judging from the look on their faces it’s _really_ not good.

    Tony breaks the silence. “Are you almost done, Bruce?”

    “Yes,” Bruce replies. Peter hadn’t even felt the needle in his skin, but Bruce is wrapping a bandage around his shoulder now.

    “Okay. Can you and Pepper go down to kitchen, bring up some food? I think this conversation needs food. And possibly drink. Alcohol, specifically for me.”

    Pepper glares at Tony, her wings ruffling indignantly. But the two leave the room, and Peter is left alone with Tony.

    “He knew I was wingless,” Peter mutters. “But I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell, Tony.”

    Tony nods. “Yeah. He’s a hard one to pin down.”

    “So you _do_ know who it is.”

    “Aren’t many people like Deadpool,” Tony replies.

    Peter blinks. “Deadpool?” he asks.

 

* * *

  

    He is so fucking screwed.

    “Why is someone like _him_ after _me_?” he demands, frantically pacing back and forth. Most of the other Avengers have arrived at the Tower, except Natasha, who’s away on some covert mission, and Thor, who’s off world.

    Clint makes an amused noise, wings shuffling on his back. His primaries are so long they brush the ground when he walks. “He’s a mercenary. He’s doing it for the money.”

    “Yes but why _me_?” Peter grits out, completely unamused.

    “It’s entirely likely that someone’s paying him to take you out, Spiderman,” Cap says sternly. His grey barred wings sit still and quiet against his back. “You need to be careful – I would recommend staying here, in the Tower, for the time being.”

    “Noted, but I can’t do that,” Peter replies firmly. “And I don’t think he’s trying to take me out. If he’s as good as you’re telling me, he didn’t _miss_ accidentally.”

    Sam hums a thoughtful note. His wings are under his skin, because he doesn’t need them when he has his mechanical wings. Peter doesn't think he's ever seen them. “You pissed anyone off, Spiderman?”

    Peter forces a dry laugh from his throat. “Probably. Don’t you guys read the Daily Bugle? I’m a menace.”

    “So someone wants to capture you – and what?” Clint asks, and Peter feels like punching the archer because he’s being supremely unhelpful.

    “Unmask you,” Tony says, the first thing he’s said in a while. “No one guards their identity like you, Spiderman. If they want to hurt you, that’s what they’ll do.”

    Peter falls gracefully into the nearest chair. “So basically, I’m screwed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Tell me what you think!
> 
> For reference, Pepper - Manchurian Crane, Steve - Grey Plover (look how cool the wings are!), Clint - Peregrine Falcon


	3. Chapter 3

    The third time Peter meets the mercenary called Deadpool, he’s not trying to shoot at him. Peter is finally going out for Mexican take out, because he’s hungry and honestly he just needs to escape from the Tower. They all mean well, he knows, but it’s suffocating always being in his suit, always hiding his back.

    Peter takes his order and sits at a table in the back, absolutely delighted to be finally free. He’d even dressed in normal clothes for the outing, enlisting Jarvis’s help to get out of the Tower without running into anyone.

    He’s halfway through his first burrito when a tall, broad figure in black and red leather bounces into the little Mexican place.

    Peter can’t look away from the man, because _of course_ he recognizes him. Peter’s shoulder aches with recognition, and Peter tries to make himself as small as possible. He can’t walk out now, not when he’s not finished his food, not without drawing more attention to himself.

    He focuses on eating his burrito, trying to stop looking at the mercenary as he orders what sounds like the entire menu. He’s almost finished – trying not to look like you’re rushing when you are is _hard_ – when Deadpool slides casually into the seat across from him. Peter freezes.

    “Fancy seeing you here, Petey! How’s the shoulder?” the larger man asks. And Peter actually flinches at that, because _fuck_ the guy knows his face and his name and everything is just going to hell.

    “Fine,” he replies, voice calmer than he feels. “How’re the ribs?”

    The mercenary giggles, the sound gratingly high pitched. “You’ll have to kick me a lot harder than that if you want to leave a mark, sugar.”

    And yeah, Peter knows about Deadpool’s healing factor now, and the cancer, so of course his big, stupid mouth opens and goes, “I’m sure a little more pain wouldn’t bother you.” And that just sounds rude and insensitive, so Peter frowns at his mouth and mentally scolds himself.

    Deadpool sits back and chuckles. “Baby boy got _bite_ ,” he says. And then he leans closer, and Peter stiffens all over again. “So, wingless, huh?”

    “What’s it to you?” Peter asks, and the snarl in his voice doesn’t actually surprise him. He’s been very, very careful with that particular secret of his, and he doesn’t appreciate the mercenary’s blasé attitude.

    “Hey, no need to snap! We’re like two peas in a pod. Two tacos on a plate. Two pimples on a testicle.”

    Peter makes a face. “Please stop.”

    “You sure, baby boy? I could go on and on.” Deadpool winks at him. Actually _winks_ at him. What the hell?

    Peter finishes his burrito and makes to stand, but Deadpool’s hand flashes forward to grip his wrist, _hard_. Peter freezes all over again, spider sense singing a terribly belated warning to him. Peter stares at the hand, flicks his eyes back to Deadpool – who’s grinning at him under the mask, he can tell he is – and then back to the hand.

    “Please let me go,” Peter says politely, because he was brought up with manners and he is obligated to at least ask before snapping Deadpool’s wrist (like he’s planning to do).

    “You’re so polite!” Deadpool giggles. “It’s adorable! Can I kidnap you and take you back to my place?”

    The scars on his back twinge. Peter tilts his head – they haven’t bothered him so often for a while now. “That’s a no,” he says, placing his free hand around Deadpool’s wrist.

    “Whatcha gonna do, baby boy?” Deadpool asks, quietly amused. “Breaking wrists is hard with one hand, you know? Definitely not recommended for twinks like you.”

    Peter takes a breath in through his teeth, subtly shifting his body so that the other patrons can’t get a clear view of what’s about to happen. “I’m _not_ a twink,” he replies, and snaps Deadpool’s wrist.

    Deadpool’s hand abruptly releases Peter’s wrist, and Peter steps back smoothly. The mask Deadpool wears is strangely emotive, and it means Peter can see Deadpool’s mouth has fallen open in shock.

    “Enjoy your food,” Peter calls, waving carelessly as he walks out of the Mexican place.

 

* * *

  

    Peter sees Deadpool several more times around town, both as himself and as Spiderman. The over-muscled mercenary doesn’t seem to be shooting at him anymore (thank God), but he’s still very much _there_ and it worries Peter, although not enough for him to inform Tony about it.

    Sometimes, Deadpool is just someone he sees from the corner of his eye. Peter can ignore him then, pretend he didn’t see the man sneaking after him or hiding out on the rooftops. But more often than not, Deadpool bounces into Peter’s face. He usually drops out of nowhere, and the first few times Peter had reacted by webbing him to the nearest wall, heart beating way too fast in his chest.

    But Deadpool never shows up empty handed – he’ll have burritos, or tacos, or strange mixed lollies Peter’s never seen but that Deadpool swears are from all over the world. Peter’s a little suspicious about _why_ the mercenary is being so nice to him – but he’s starting to suspect that Deadpool might not actually have a valid reason.

    And no, ‘because I like your butt’ is not a valid reason.

 

* * *

  

    The next time someone shoots at him, it’s not Deadpool. And the guy who is shooting at him now is aiming to kill. _And_ his spider sense warned him well ahead of time.

    Peter scrambles to the left, avoiding a rapid burst of gunfire. He’s actually getting pretty sick of all the bullets directed at him, and is seriously considering going full stealth and kicking the crap out of this guy when a very big, very muscled arm catches him around the waist and hauls him down.

    With a yelp, Peter finds himself staring up at the stars, dazed. The back of his head had cracked against the roof, and his spider sense is still blaring angrily in his skull, and he can’t _think_.

    Before he passes out, he sees a broad shadow standing over him, huge wings stretched out wide enough to cover the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter, because I love you.


	4. Chapter 4

    Peter wakes up panicking. His dreams were filled with wings, huge in comparison to his tiny child self, and the sharp agony in his back has him stumbling to his feet and throwing up in the corner of the room he’s in.

    His breathing is sharp and shallow and he knows he needs to calm down, but there’s nothing to anchor him in the _here_ and _now_. He gasps for air, drowning in a sea of memories and the agony and he _can’t breathe_ –

    A hand lands on his shoulder, and he whirls, catching the hand and twisting it until he hears a snap. It’s the snap that brings him back, the snap that makes him realize he’s safe, he’s not hurting where he thinks he _should_ be hurting.

    He stares up at Deadpool and just stays on the floor, gasping for air.

    “Hey there, baby boy.” Deadpool sounds oddly jovial as he resets the bones in his arm. “Have a nice sleep? No need to thank me for saving you, by the way, just doing my job. I mean, usually my job would be _killing_ you, but I got offered more money to keep you safe. I’m not going to turn down a cheque from Tony freaking Stark! Although, contract wise, I’m _supposed_ to be protecting Spiderman, not you.”

    Peter finally finds his words. “Thank you,” he gasps, trying to work through the mercenary’s yammering. “Protect?” he asks, because that is the _exact_ opposite of what he knows Deadpool does.

    Deadpool nods enthusiastically. “Yep,” he says, popping the p. “I know, I’m as surprised as you are. _But_ Stark is paying all the monies for this little tiny thing, and I kind of like you anyway so it’s no skin off my back. You’re a snarky little shit. We like that.”

    Peter sighs. “Better snarky than a twink,” he mutters. He glances down at the mess he made. “Sorry about that,” he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

    Deadpool waves a dismissive hand, hoisting him up on his feet. “It’s no biggie. There are probably worse things on the floor." And that doesn't exactly make Peter feel better. "Sounded like some dream.”

    Peter shrugs. “Nightmare,” he says, as if that explains everything. And maybe it does, because Deadpool just nods and starts talking a mile a minute about Pluto and the joys of Mexican cuisine.

 

* * *

 

    Peter’s back aches. Ever since the night Deadpool saved him, he’s been having the same nightmare. Over and over and over again. And every time, he wakes up and staggers to the toilet, sometimes multiple times a night. He’s losing weight, losing sleep, and he’s pretty sure he’s not hiding it well.

    Or at all.

    He’s sitting on a roof, staring blankly at the traffic and people below, when Deadpool pops up beside him. It says a lot about his care factor when Peter doesn’t even jump.

    “Hey baby boy,” the mercenary (bodyguard?) greets him, taking a seat beside Peter. As always, the other man has no concept of personal space, and Peter’s scars twinge angrily at how close he is. Peter doesn’t even try and be subtle when he moves away.

    “Hey,” Peter replies, once he’s put a good bit of distance between them. He tries not to notice that the distance is just a little longer than the average wingspan. “What are you doing here?”

    “I’m on Spidey watching duty,” Deadpool says with a grin, not commenting on Peter’s hasty retreat. He kicks his heels against the roof. “Thought I’d come say hello. You looked _lonely_ , Spidey! Plus, anyone could pick you off from here.”

    Peter taps the side of his head. “Spider sense,” he says.

    “Say what now?”

    Peter sighs, wishing it would start raining so he has a good excuse to go home and try to sleep. Although he’s pretty sure by now that it’s inevitable he’ll wake up at some ungodly hour, stressed and panicked and dry heaving in the toilet.

    He hasn’t eaten anything today, but there’s a heavy weight in his stomach. He couldn’t eat even if he wanted to, and he really, really doesn’t.

    “Heeelllloooo? Earth to Spidey?”

    “I have a warning system,” Peter explains, tapping his head again. “An instinct. It’s how I know when to dodge.”

    Deadpool curses. “Would have been nice to know why I couldn’t freaking _hit_ you,” he mutters to himself. “Talk about unfair.”

    Peter shrugs. “It comes in handy. But it’s weird with you.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “It didn’t warn me,” Peter says. “The first time you took the shot, I didn’t get a warning. It’s the first time that happened. And then it was like it was _reluctant_ to label you as a threat… Like _you_ were half-assing being a threat to me.” He threw up his hands, letting them fall back onto the roof with an audible sound. It's pissing him off, the thought that Deadpool held back in his attacks, but he's not sure why. Because if Deadpool hadn't held back, he'd be dead.

    The thought fills him with a vicious sort of glee, which in turn fills him with fear - he hasn't felt like this for eight years now. Why is he going backwards  _now_?

    Deadpool is quiet for a moment. “Are you alright, baby boy?” he asks eventually. “You seem… Tense.”

    Peter doesn’t want to _talk_ about it, doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “Of course I’m tense – there are people _trying to kill me_.” Again, he thinks, but he doesn’t add that because it would probably be very clear that he isn’t referring to Deadpool and _he doesn’t want to talk about it_.

    He pushes himself to his feet. “I have to go,” he says. “I’m going home. Please don’t follow me.” He jumps from the roof before Deadpool can reply.

 

* * *

  

    “Are you alright, Peter?” Aunt May asks, her lined face worried. “You look half-starved! Are you eating properly?”

    It’s been a month, and Peter has lost an _obscene_ amount of weight. Hell, even Tony’s noticed, and he _never_ notices anything.

    Peter smiles. “I’m fine, Aunt May. I just haven’t been hungry,” he says, and makes a point to shove some more food into his mouth. “This is delicious,” he adds.

    The truth is, he can’t taste it. It’s like ash in his mouth, and he just doesn’t have the energy to feel worried about how _not_ hungry he is. But he doesn’t want to worry Aunt May, so he finishes an entire plate and then has seconds. He can tell his Aunt is appeased, but she makes sure to give him almost a week’s worth of food before he leaves.

    Peter wonders vaguely if it will all fit in his freezer, and how long it will last before he has to throw is away.

 

* * *

  

    Peter’s in the bathroom, stomach heaving, throat clenching, eyes watering and nose running when Deadpool comes to say hello.

    Naturally, Peter doesn’t hear him come in through the window. He doesn’t hear the mercenary call his name. He doesn’t even hear the bathroom door creak open.

    He’s too busy clutching at the toilet bowl, making pathetic whimpering noises and keeping his eyes closed. He’s only wearing pants, because shirts have begun to irritate the scars on his back, and he knows from an earlier accidental glance in the mirror that he’s starting to look like a skeleton.

    By the time he’s finished, there’s no evidence that Deadpool had even been in his apartment, except for the broken latch on his window. Exhausted, Peter doesn’t notice it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Peter is not a happy camper. Next chapter, you get to find out exactly why. So if you're not a fan of violence and nasty things, skip the next chapter, I guess? I'll update the tags when I get a chance.
> 
> Tell me what you think! Your comments give me life~


	5. Chapter 5

    Peter’s nightmares are simple. Brutal, some might say. But the point is, they’re predictable and should be absolutely boring by now. He should be able to just  _endure_ it.

    But they’re not, and he can't.                                             

    In his nightmare, Peter is himself. He’s twelve, a few years before he’s bitten by the radioactive spider that turned him into the infamous Spiderman. He’s walking, alone, and it’s dark. The streetlamps are on, but the light doesn’t seem to filter down to Peter.

    He doesn’t quite remember _why_ he was walking alone so late at night, but he thinks it might have been because Uncle Ben, who is kind and good and strong (the kind of man Peter wants to be, the kind of man he can _never_ be), had to pick Aunt May up from the hospital where she works as a nurse.

    Going by that, he thinks he’s heading back home, but he never recognises any of the streets, and the signs are suspiciously blank. The street signs are what makes him realize he’s dreaming, and even as he continues to walk along calmly, he’s already started internally panicking because he knows what comes next.

    And then there they are – four big men, wings flared aggressively. Even now, Peter can recall the colours of their feathers – there’d been one with rainbow coloured wings, one with black and green wings, and two with plain golden brown wings. They’re all muscled and strong and stink of alcohol, and they are the reason he feels sick every time he smells the stuff.

    There are hands on his arms, and he’s pinned face first against a brick wall. The bricks are cold, his face hot as he struggles uselessly against the iron strength of his attackers. They’re talking to him, sneering at his dark wings – they aren’t black, Peter remembers, but the men think they are and that’s as good a reason as any to pull out a knife and try to pinion him.

    But he struggles, terrified, wings flaring and moving so much that the men can’t get a proper grip, and eventually they grab his wing – bones crushed under harsh fingers – and one of the men with brown wings – Peter’s wings are brown too, why can’t they see that? – cuts into the part of Peter’s left wing that attaches directly to his back.

    Sometimes, if he’s lucky, this is where he wakes up. He still needs to run to the bathroom, but at least he doesn’t have to relive the entirety of the ordeal. More often than not, though, the dream continues.

    The pain is always the same. It’s always just abruptly _there_ – his back screams, he screams, and the men _laugh_. They cut him, cut through muscle and feather and _bone_ , and there’s blood running down his back, soaking his shirt, and in some distant part of his mind he always worries about whether or not Aunt May will be able to clean his shirt, because it’s his favourite…

    The second wing is worse, somehow. The pain, it gets even _more_ intense, and Peter can’t handle it. His legs are lashing out, he’s bitten clean through his lips, he’s screaming, and they just keep _laughing_. Their wings press against him, filling his face with feathers and it’s suffocating, he can’t breathe, _he can’t breathe_ –

    This is when he usually wakes up. He doesn’t dream about the surgeries, the months spent in hospital, the recovery, the oppressive weight of the stares, the trial, the devastated looks on the two men’s faces when they see the photos of his _brown wings_ and realize exactly what they’ve done.

    He remembers they said they were drunk, that it was dark. They couldn’t tell he wasn’t a crow. They didn’t even know the two brown winged men. They hadn’t meant to do it – they’d thought he was a crow!

    Peter wonders if it even matters to them that he was only twelve.

 

* * *

  

    “Hey Spidey!” Deadpool calls, catching Peter around the waist and swinging him around fast enough to make Peter dizzy. By now, he’s used to the other man appearing out of nowhere, grabbing his hand or his waist and starting a conversation with him. “I have a surprise for you!”

    “Deadpool,” Peter replies. He wonders, vaguely, if his ribs had dug into Deadpool’s arm, but can't find it in himself to care. The mercenary's not an idiot - he's probably noticed something is wrong.

    “Spidey,” Deadpool whines. “Call me Wade!”

    Peter gives him a tight smile he’s not sure the other man can see under the mask. “What’s the surprise?”

    “Oh right! So, I was thinking. You know how usually tonight is pretty dead for patrol?” When Peter nods, Deadpool bounces on his toes. “I was thinking we should totally hang at my place instead and play video games! Great idea, right?”

    Peter’s about to say “No thanks”, but something makes him stop.

    Deadpool’s… He’s really not that bad. Apart from the eight times he’s shot at Peter, he’s actually a pretty decent guy. Sure, he talks all the time, has appalling manners, and is entirely, unrepentantly annoying, but he’s respected the subtle boundaries Peter has put up. He buys Peter food sometimes, which is sweet (even though Peter knows he’ll just throw it back up later, but it’s the thought that counts, right?).

    Plus, according to every bit of information on the mercenary, he’s wingless. And that’s a big green tick in Peter’s book.

    “Okay,” he says instead.

 

* * *

  

    They play Mario Kart for a few hours before Peter begins to feel sleepy. His eyes droop, and twice he almost falls sideways on the couch. His mask is off – he doesn’t exactly need it, and Deadpool knows what his face looks like anyway.

    Deadpool – Wade – chuckles. “Sleepy Spidey?” he asks, his voice teasing. “You should stay the night. I don’t want you swinging into any buildings on the way home.”

    And this sounds like a wonderful idea to Peter’s sleepy brain, and he hums once in agreement. He sits up, marks where the toilet is, and then curls up on the couch, his legs hanging over Wade’s. He’s asleep in moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, this was shorter than I thought it was, so you get it now. And then another chapter tomorrow. And then I think I actually have to start writing again, because we are rapidly approaching the end of what I already have and I _so_ did not plan this well.
> 
> Whelp.


	6. Chapter 6

    When Peter wakes up, he’s warm and, for once, he doesn’t need to throw up. The apartment is dark, the sun not yet risen, but he can tell it’s not an ungodly hour in the morning. He blinks, mind still processing the fact that, if he dreamt, he can’t remember it.

    Peter is lying on Wade’s chest, which should be really uncomfortable, given how muscular the mercenary is, but it’s surprisingly not. The wings wrapped around Peter like a blanket have kept all the heat in, and Wade’s arm is warm and heavy across his back, and Peter can’t remember his horrible, horrible nightmares –

    Wings. Wings. _Wings_.

    And there goes Peter’s moment of serenity. He freezes, heart rate picking up until he can feel it trying to beat out of his chest again. His fingers tighten on Wade’s shoulders until the man below him mutters a sleepy protest, thumb rubbing soothing circles into Peter’s back.

    But his thumb brushes the scar on his left side, and Peter whimpers in terror. The sound makes Wade’s wings tighten. Peter can’t handle the wings – why does Wade have _wings_? – and knows he needs to wake Wade up. His lips are trembling, but he steels himself.

    “Wade.” The first attempt is pathetic and makes him want to cry. His voice is broken and shaking, so he takes a fortifying breath and tries again. “Wade.” This time, the sound of his name makes Wade mutter something decidedly inappropriate, and if Peter could feel anything other than terror he would be blushing.

    “ _Wade_ ,” Peter begs, voice cracking, and Wade wakes up. Peter can tell because of the way his arm slips from around Peter’s waist. But his wings stay curled around Peter, and he hiccups on a sob.

    “Petey?” the mercenary says, sounding wide awake. “Petey, what is it? Did you have a nightmare again?”

    Briefly, Peter wonders how Wade knows about the nightmares, but there are more pressing issues to attend to. Like that fact that Wade’s wings have tightened again, making his skin prickle and his stomach heave.

    “ _Wings_ ,” he manages to say, breathing picking up. He’s heading into panic attack territory, he knows, but there’s nothing he can do about that. “ _Let me go_ ,” he begs.

    Peter’s never seen wings move so fast. Between one blink and the next, the weight of them is gone, but Peter can’t catch his breath and he knows he’s hyperventilating and he needs to calm down but he _can’t_ –

    Wade’s arms wrap around him, and Peter stiffens for a second before his terrified mind recognises _hug_ and _comfort_ , both of which he finds himself desperately in need of. His cheek is pressed against Wade’s chest, and he can hear Wade’s heart beating, steady and strong.

    “Ssh, Petey. Breathe with me, baby boy. In and out, just like this.” Wade breathes, and Peter breathes with him, lungs filling with so much air he’s getting light-headed. “In and out. Keep at it, baby boy.”

    Wade has one hand in his hair, gently running his fingers through Peter’s thick brown mess. The action is soothing, and Peter relaxes marginally into the embrace.

    By the time Peter has properly calmed down, the sun is peeking through the window of Wade’s apartment. Peter feels exhausted and is quite happy to simply rest there, eyes closed at the pleasant feeling of Wade combing fingers through his hair.

    Wade breaks the silence. “You alright, baby boy?” Peter hums quietly in response. “You hungry?”

    “No,” Peter replies automatically, because he hasn’t been hungry for a long time. His stomach _snarls_ in response. He pulls away from Wade to stare at it in surprise. “Yes,” he corrects himself.

    Wade pushes himself up, almost toppling Peter off the couch. “Pancakes!” he announces loudly. He smacks Peter’s ass, and Peter feels warmth stain his cheeks. “Up you get, bubble butt!”

    Peter watches Wade bounce into the kitchen and decides they need to talk.

 

* * *

  

    “How do you know about my nightmares?” Peter asks.

    Wade makes a face. “Can we wait until after breakfast?” he demands. “I want to eat my pancakes!”

    Peter reluctantly agrees on the grounds that they _will_ talk. The second they’re both finished – Wade eats _so much food_ – Peter is looking at Wade expectantly.

    The mercenary sighs. “I came to visit you a while ago,” he says. “You were basically connected to the toilet, so I just figured I’d come back later… But when I did, you were asleep, and you were making these really, really horrible noises, and thrashing and shit, and I knew you were having a nightmare, but I’m of the opinion it’s never a good idea to wake someone up from a nightmare, especially if it’s _me_ , because I always keep a gun under my pillow in case of… _Unwelcome_ wake ups.

    “So I left and then came back the next night. And it was the same thing. I’m totally sorry for creeping on you, but Stark is paying me lots of money to keep you safe, and your nightmares seem almost as bad as mine, so do you want to talk about it, because I have _lots_ of experience with nightmares.”

    Peter blinks at the other man. He doesn’t know what to say in response, but his mouth opens and he says, “When I was twelve, four men attacked me in an alley and cut off my wings.” It’s not what he meant to say – he made a promise to himself that he’d never tell anyone. He hadn’t even managed to tell Gwen before she died.

    Wade is frozen on the other side of the table, fingers gripping the table so tightly Peter is momentarily worried he’ll break it.

    “They only caught two of them. They’re serving life,” Peter says, because he’s started now and he can’t stop. “I used to worry about them escaping, but I don’t anymore. If they get out, I’ll just put them straight back where they belong. I can do it now.” He drops his gaze, studying the table. “The other two… Their wings were too common. Golden brown feathers, no special markings or identifying features…”

    The silence is oddly charged. Peter wonders if he should be telling all of this to the mercenary, but Wade’s somehow become a sort of friend lately and Peter can’t just stop now.

    “My memories are my nightmare,” he says. “They thought I was a crow. That’s why they did it, apparently. Alcohol and shitty lights can make brown turn to black.” Peter laughs, a little bitterly. “The worst part was probably that they didn’t see _me_. They just saw my wings.”

    Wade lets the silent sit for a moment. “Why did my wings freak you out?”

    Peter chews on his lip. “They… Their wings kept getting in my face. It’s not like they were trying to do it… But their wings were _everywhere_ and I just…” Peter stops to breathe.

    “I’m sorry,” Wade says, and Peter is almost stunned at the sincerity in his voice. “I’m usually better at keeping them in…”

    “I thought you were wingless,” Peter admits, not daring to look at Wade’s face. “Tony had all these files, and none of them say that you have wings…”

    “You thought you’d be safe,” Wade mutters. “Yes, shut up, I know.”

    Peter’s used to Wade talking to himself like this. “I thought you were wingless,” Peter repeats. “But I’m not… I’m not _afraid_ of you, Wade.”

    Wade makes a thoughtful noise. “I _was_ wingless,” he says abruptly. “For a few years, anyway.”

    Peter raises an eyebrow at that, because wings don’t just _grow back_. It’s impossible – oh. Peter’s eyes widen with the realization.

    “Your healing factor…?” Peter murmurs.

    Wade grins and nods. “Baby boy, I was more surprised than you. My wings were _gone_.” He waves his hands. “And then I woke up this one time – he doesn’t need to know that, shut it – and lo and behold, I have these absolutely _disgusting_ things on my back. It took a couple of rounds of me waking up – yes, _shut up_ – before the miracle bore fruit, so to speak.”

    Peter rolls his shoulders unconsciously. “Did it hurt?” he asks, a little timidly because while the fact Wade has wings hasn’t changed _everything_ , it’s changed enough that Peter isn’t sure where he stands with the mercenary anymore.

    “Nah,” Wade replies. “I barely felt it.”

    Peter pauses, because the next question is kind of nosy and he doesn’t want to scare the man away. “When you say waking up,” he begins, and stops when he sees Wade’s shoulders tighten, drawing up against his ears. And Peter's pretty sure he knows the answer to his unfinished question.

    “I don’t have many good dreams anymore, Petey,” Wade says quietly, completely serious for once. There’s a weight to his words that Peter’s never heard before, and they don’t speak again for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's the end of the pre-written stuff. Updates won't be as quick, but I'll try not to take too long :)
> 
> So yeah. Wade has wings, but he _was_ wingless. That's why, in the second chapter when Wade's got Peter at gunpoint, Peter's instincts are telling him that something is _wrong_ with Wade. Because his instincts are telling him the guy holding the gun should be wingless, but he's not. And it's why no one was really sure if Wade was wingless or not. Because they got conflicting information from their instincts.
> 
> (It especially frustrates Tony, by the way. He _really_ can't stand not knowing, or understanding)


	7. Chapter 7

    “Peter,” Tony says. He has his arms folded, and he looks decidedly unpleased. Peter isn’t sure what he’s done wrong _now_. The last time the billionaire had been like this, it was because Peter had skipped a week of school.

    (Peter’s still not sure _exactly_ how the other man knew he’d done it, especially because he supposedly doesn’t know what Peter looks like. But he never did skip school again, except if he was sick.)

    “Tony,” Peter replies warily. He hasn’t been to the Tower in a while, caught up with his Spiderman duties and Aunt May and _Wade_. He’s already decided he won’t be telling the Avengers about how much time he’s spending with the mercenary.

    “I’m going to say this now, while it’s just you and I,” Tony begins, but he’s interrupted by Jarvis.

    “I am here as well, sir.”

    Tony shoots a glare at the ceiling while Peter tries valiantly not to laugh. He’s feeling more like himself, and hasn’t had a nightmare for a week. Wade’s been helping, he’s sure of it. He sees the mercenary when he’s out on patrol, and the other man almost always has something edible in his pouches for Peter.

    “A little birdy told me you’re been hanging around with Deadpool. I thought the guy was trying to kill you?”

    Peter’s humour vanishes at the reproachful note in Tony’s voice, and he wonders if he’s already told the other Avengers. “He saved me,” he says, voice unconsciously sharp.

    Tony scratches his head. “Last I heard, he was shooting _at_ you. What’s changed?”

    Peter shrugs. “He saved me,” he repeats, because it’s as simple and complicated as that.

    When Peter leaves Stark Tower a few hours later – after being reamed out by Cap _and_ Pepper (and they’re both pretty terrifying, actually, even more so than unhappy Tony) – he suddenly remembers something. Wade had said that _Tony_ is paying him to keep Peter alive, but Tony acted like that isn’t the case.

    Not only that, but Tony had _demanded_ that Peter stop doing it. He’d been as worried as the other Avengers…

    But that means… And Wade… Peter rocks back on his heels, a frown on his face. He trusts Wade, mostly because it’s been more than a month and Wade hasn’t tried to kill him again. And he hasn’t been shot at for a while. And even if he _is_ shot at, Wade’s always there to drag him out of the way and shoot back.

    The fact that Wade has been lying to him – saying that Tony is paying him to keep Peter safe when he’s obviously not – sends an unpleasant shiver down Peter’s spine, however. He really needs to talk to Wade about that, and about why he felt like he had to lie to Peter.

    Luckily for him, they have plans to meet up at Wade’s apartment.

 

* * *

  

    “Tony told me to stay away from you today,” Peter informs Wade later. He and the mercenary are in Wade’s apartment, playing a Mortal Kombat game that Peter is decidedly bad at.

    But while Peter might not be particularly good, he’s smart. He’d waited to spring the news on Wade until the moment they’re both on low health, because Wade is a bit of an asshole and likes to let Peter _think_ he’s going to win before doing some absolutely ridiculous combo that absolutely _smashes_ Peter’s character.

    “Shit buggering _fuck_ ,” Wade swears as his fingers fumble the buttons and Peter makes a quiet noise of victory that turns into a triumphant shout when his character shoots a fireball through Wade’s character’s chest.

    “I win!” Peter exclaims, turning to grin at Wade. The game announces “Fatality” in the background while Wade looks desperately around the room, apparently looking for an escape. Peter’s noticed that nine times out of ten, Wade will run from a confrontation that involves feelings and talking seriously. He’s not about to let him get away from this one.

    He flicks out a web, pinning Wade’s feet to the floor. He’s always given Peter the couch, and respects Peter’s boundaries by sitting on the floor. It’s sweet, and it gives Peter an advantage - he can flip over the couch and be out the window faster than Wade can stand up. They’ve tested it.

    “So,” Peter says, and Wade resignedly puts down his controller and looks at Peter. For once, the mask actually bothers Peter – he wants to see Wade’s face, wants to _see_ if he’s telling the truth this time. But he’s not about to make Wade anymore uncomfortable, because it’s obvious that Wade clings to his mask like a lifeline.

    “So,” Wade parrots.

    And Peter suddenly realizes that he doesn’t _need_ to see Wade’s face. Wade has _wings_ , and they’re much better for telling truth from lies.

    The only problem with that idea is that then Peter would have to see Wade’s wings without panicking. His stomach roils at the thought, and for a moment he thinks he can feel feathers in his face.

    “Baby boy?” Wade asks, sounding worried. “What’s wrong?”

    “You lied to me,” Peter replies, watching the flinch that runs through the larger man’s body. “I want to know why.”

    “Baby boy,” Wade begins, but Peter shakes his head, and the mercenary shuts up.

    “You lied to me,” Peter repeats, “and you could very easily do it again. I came up with two ways that I could see if you were telling the truth. One of them _you_ won’t like, and one of them _I_ won’t like.”

    Wade cocks his head. “You can’t just trust me?” he asks, but there’s something in his voice that makes Peter’s heart clench.

    Peter shakes his head. “You already lied to me,” he points out.

    “But I’m keeping you safe,” Wade argues. “Does it matter why?”

    Peter pauses at that. Does it? Wade makes a valid point – the mercenary _has_ saved him, and hasn’t exactly asked for anything in return.

    But he _could_ , and that worries Peter. He doesn’t exactly have enough of anything to give the mercenary. At the same time it doesn’t seem like something Wade would do to him.

    “I don’t know,” he eventually replies, but he bends over and pulls the webbing free anyway. Maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, but Peter suddenly finds himself not caring. They go back to playing games, Wade declaring loudly that they’re having a rematch because Peter cheated.

    Needless to say, Peter loses the rematch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay! We'll get some action soon, I promise (I hate slow build fics, but apparently they're all I can write)
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!


	8. Chapter 8

    “Yes,” Peter says to himself, panting as he stumbles to press against the stone of the nearest building.

    His side _aches_. He’s pretty sure he’s got a broken finger, maybe two. His shoulder might be dislocated. There’s a serious looking gash that runs over his chest, from his left shoulder to his right hip, suit torn open to reveal the pale skin. He hasn’t recovered fully yet, so he’s still skinny, abnormally so.

    He counts his ribs as easily as he counts his blessings that Wade shows up at the last second.

    His spider sense sings a warning, and with a tired grunt Peter pushes himself to the left. The bullet that hits the wall is more annoying than it is threatening – he’s been shot at too many times lately for him to feel properly threatened.

    “Spidey! Baby boy, as much as I love the amount of skin you’re showing off, maybe you should be, oh I don’t know. Running away?”

    Peter laughs. “I don’t run, Deadpool,” he replies. The bravado he’s exuding is betrayed by the fact he’s still clutching at the wall for support, legs shaking with the desire to simply collapse.

    Wade snorts. “Someone’s been trying to get you naked,” he sings, instead of harping on about Peter running away like he clearly wants to.

    “Venom,” Peter spits in reply. “And now other people are shooting at me.” He heaves a put upon sigh, legs trembling enough that he stumbles away from the wall and right into Wade’s arms. He makes an annoyed sound and makes to push away, but Wade’s arms wind around his shoulders, too gentle for someone who’s more used to killing people than saving them. The pressure doesn't even make his shoulder twinge.

    “I can take care of the idiots shooting at you in, like, five seconds,” Wade says, chin resting on top of Peter’s head. “And then we can go back to my place and play video games.”

    “You know I don’t like killing,” Peter grumbles, nowhere near as horrified as he should be.

    Wade snorts. “I’ll just disable them then,” he replies, and the next second the supportive warmth Peter’s resting against is gone.

    He manages an embarrassing total of ten steps before Wade is back. Peter hisses in pain when Wade’s gloved hands brush over his back, and adds bruised ribs to his list of injuries. Wade makes an apologetic noise and offers his arm, and after a moment of confused glaring Peter gives up and just… Falls into Wade’s arms.

    It’s nowhere near as sappy as it sounds, because Peter’s pretty sure he’s blacking out.

 

* * *

  

    Peter wakes up in stages. The first stage is blissful ignorance, where he is dark and warm and _safe_. That stage lasts until he takes in a breath, and then there is pain (that’s the second stage). His shoulder aches, his ribs burn, his skin feels hypersensitive and has decided it hates the material on it with a passion. Peter reaches up to claw at it, eyes still closed.

    And is very abruptly and rudely reminded that yes, he really _did_ break those fingers. His eyes fly open and he makes a soft noise of pain, and that is the third stage. The fourth stage is him blinking tears out of his eyes as he stares up at a vaguely familiar ceiling.

    The last stage is him realizing where he is and attempting to sit up. Which is a _stupid_ move, because it makes all of his injuries flare up at once, and if Peter had been capable of sound he would have screamed. It is almost as bad as –

    No, he definitely needs to stop that thought in its tracks. Weakly, every muscle screaming in protest, Peter slowly pushes himself into a sitting position, blinking around what he recognises now is Wade’s bedroom. Although, he doesn’t recall there being this many blankets. Or pillows. And are those _feathers_?

    The man himself bounces into the room, singing quietly to himself until he notices Peter trembling in the bed. His mouth, visible because Wade’s rolled his mask up to his nose, turns down in a frown. The rolled up mask is a new thing, and Peter has barely a second to notice the angry red scars and marks that mar Wade’s chin before the man is talking.

    “You shouldn’t be moving,” he says, wagging a finger at Peter. “You’re hurt pretty bad.”

    Peter makes a noise that comes out more pained than amused. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he replies with only the barest hint of sass. “How long?”

    Wade pouts. “How long have you been here? A day and a half. You’ve been unconscious the whole time, and I got pretty bored sitting here watching you so I did a bit of patrolling last night. No one died,” he adds quickly. “I mean, that I know of. No one died because I killed them. That better?”

    The last question isn’t addressed to Peter, so he just sits back with a wince. “Thank you,” he says, perhaps a little belatedly. “I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

    “Your friends definitely weren’t,” Wade growls, voice so low and dark it sends shivers up his spine. Then Wade claps his hands, morphing from his ‘Deadpool’ persona into ‘Wade’ with an ease that would completely baffle Peter if he wasn’t so used to it. “But I’m glad you’re awake,” Wade says earnestly. “I forget that people heal so _slowly_.”

    Peter sighs, lifting a hand to glare at his painful fingers. “You straightened the bones?” he asks. Wade nods vigorously. “I’ll be fine in a week,” Peter tells him. “I might not have your healing factor, but I still heal faster than your average person.”

    “Well _that’s_ a relief,” Wade says. “I was worried you’d die.”

    “On that cheerful note,” Peter mutters, “I should leave.”

    Wade freezes, and for a long, terrifying moment, Peter is sure Wade’s wings are going to burst free from his skin to spread wide and threatening, physically trying to intimidate him into staying in the bed. But there isn’t anything more than a few twitches before they settle back, easily forgotten when Wade starts shaking his head again.

    “No, you have to stay here! You’re hurt! How are you going to get home in your state?”

    Peter frowns at that. “I’m not helpless,” he snaps, frustrated that Wade _still_ seems to think he needs to protect him. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you know.”

    Wade’s mouth turns down at the corners, and the next second Peter’s pinned to the bed, Wade’s hands wrapped around his wrists, knees pressed tight against his hips. Peter can’t help but gasp in shock. There's hardly any pain, because Wade is so, so careful to keep his weight off of Peter’s injuries. His shoulder twinges a bit, but that's all. Wade's being absurdly gentle again, and it's making Peter's chest ache with something that might be gratitude, but could also maybe be affection. And he didn't sign up for that shit.

    But back to the thing that's making Peter's chest ache. Peter can’t buck Wade off, because if he does there’ll be more pain than he can handle. Not to mention the fact that Wade has him expertly pinned, and he knows that he can’t break out. Even if he wasn’t injured, he’d be hard pressed to escape without severely injuring Wade, and that’s something Peter _really_ doesn’t want to have to do.

    “Get off,” Peter huffs, squirming in a way he hopes will make Wade more inclined to listen to him. “I’m going home, and you can’t stop me.”

    Wade scoffs. “I think I’m doing a pretty decent job of it right now.”

    “Wade,” Peter says, brows furrowing over his eyes. “Why do I need to stay here? I’ll be fine on my own.”

    “No, you won’t. You’re injured, you need to stay here.”

    “Where you can keep an eye on me?” Peter demands hotly. “I’m not a child, Wade, nor am I some sort of damsel in distress.”

    “I can keep you _safe_ here,” Wade hisses, and his wings start twitching under his skin again. A dark feather pokes out from underneath Wade’s foot, carelessly crushed beneath the toes of Wade’s combat boots. Peter looks from the feather to Wade’s chin, mind buzzing.

    Maybe, if the two of them had been ‘normal’, Peter would think that this is Wade subconsciously trying to prove that he is mate material. The whole ‘pinning him to the bed to keep him safe’ thing is outdated as fuck, and also extremely annoying, but it’s something that Peter thinks Wade might possibly have grown up with. The bedroom even sort of resembles a nest, if Peter squints past the bloodstains on the walls and the general scent of death that permeates the room.

    But the thought that Wade is nesting and presenting is an insane one, because while he waxes on lyrically about Peter’s ass and is apparently going out of his way to keep Peter alive, he _can’t_ be _interested_ in _Peter_. Sure, Peter is Spiderman, but he’s also wingless. He’s nearly starved himself because something that happened more than eight years ago, which Peter is sure counts as a big red cross on the ‘mate material’ checklist.

    Not only that, but Peter’s dirt poor – he basically has zero money almost all the time. He’s a bit of a control freak sometimes, stubborn too. And he never knows when to shut up. So there’s no way that Wade, who is possibly one of the nicest people Peter has ever met (the Avengers not included and looking past the fact that they met because Wade was shooting at him), wants to start a relationship with him.

    Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone order a new chapter? Have some fluffy-angsty-I-don't-even-know _feelings_ because this chapter took an unscripted left and then decided to go right and I'm just sitting here, holding on for the ride.
> 
> Remember to leave me comments so I know you love it ;)


	9. Chapter 9

    Wade’s silent, a solid warmth pinning Peter to the mess that may or may not be his attempt at nesting. Peter’s waiting nervously because he’s afraid to shatter the silence, afraid that this moment of stillness and quiet and _safe_ will disappear the second he speaks.

    Peter’s actually expecting Wade to wake up and jerk away. Even though he can see the other man’s chin and lips, there’s no expression on them that he can read. Wade’s just staring down at him, the silence heavy and weighted.

    A few more minutes, and Peter can't take it. “Wade,” he says, voice quiet, barely above a whisper. The sound makes the mercenary’s hands twitch tighter around Peter’s wrists, but other than that he doesn’t react. Peter swallows. “Wade,” he repeats.

    “If I let my wings out, will you freak?” Wade asks in an oddly calm voice. “I can’t keep them in.”

    Peter swallows again, his eyes going wide. “I – If you let me up,” he begins, but Wade’s shaking his head, movements tight and controlled.

    “I can’t let you go. Not right now.”

    Peter’s never had the same instincts as the winged. He’s been wingless too long, never had any time to develop the instincts that come with wings. The most he can manage is an absent sort of desire for a proper nest. It’s faint enough, more often than not an errant thought, that he can ignore it most days.

    He’s never felt the primal urge to mate, to claim. He’s never needed to watch the elaborate aerial dances the winged display during a mating passion, because they simply fail to catch his attention. He doesn’t feel the urge to fight other people for someone’s affection, quite happy to back down from confrontations (not that confrontations had ever happened very often).

    So he doesn’t know if Wade’s lying to him. His brow furrows as he stares up at Wade’s mask, wanting nothing more than to rip the fabric away so he can read the truth in Wade’s eyes.

    “Peter,” Wade says, and for some reason the sound of his name makes a shiver go down his spine. “I can’t let you go. But I can’t –” He breaks off with a frustrated noise, thumbs rubbing circles into Peter’s pulse points.

    It occurs to Peter that Wade’s trying. He can feel the fine muscle trembles running over his skin as Wade fights what is obviously his nature. Peter’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he parts his lips.

    “It’s okay,” he says, words slow and hesitant. 

    Wade drops his face into the crook of Peter’s neck, his breath hot against Peter’s skin. “Do you understand what I’m trying here?” he asks, words muffled. “I – fuck, baby boy, do you have any idea how long it’s been since I felt the urge to fucking _nest_?”

    Peter’s heartrate picks up in response to that. “So this _is_ a nest,” he says, words clumsy and awkward in the moment.

    Wade lifts his head, an incredulous noise huffing along the column of Peter’s throat. “You didn’t _know_? The boxes thought it’d be hella obvious. They said you’d run.”

    Peter’s almost certain ‘the boxes’ were what (or who) Wade was talking to when he’s not talking to Peter. And yeah, okay, maybe Wade’s file had said something about ‘reports the subject hears voices’, but this is the first time Peter’s been told by Wade _himself_ , and that means something.

    It has to, because if it doesn’t then it means Peter has read this whole situation wrong. It means the feelings he’s currently feeling, the ones he doesn’t want to put a name to because he’s so _afraid_ , those feelings will be something to think of with mortification and he doesn’t want that. He's actually enjoying the fluttering in his chest, the slow heat coiling in his stomach and the pleasant tingles emanating from where their skin meets.

    Peter swallows, loudly. The room is silent, and Peter realizes that Wade is giving him time, letting him think. It’s such a considerate thing – more often than not, Peter’s noticed that people like to steam role right over the top of him, especially if they know he’s wingless.

    It’s a little thing that, according to the files he’s read, Wade Wilson would _never_ do.

    “Wade,” he says softly. And then he stops, because he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to say to get his point across.

    “Can I do this?” Wade asks, warm lips pressing against the skin of Peter’s throat. Peter doesn’t fight the sudden desire to tip his head back, to let Wade touch more of his skin. “Am I allowed to make you - _us_ - a nest? Can I still keep you safe? I don’t… These kinds of things, they’ve been dead for a _long_ time, Peter. I can’t promise I’ll _stop_.”

    According to the files, there are a lot of things Wade Wilson wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t save someone. He wouldn’t protect them. He wouldn’t give them food and shelter, wouldn’t help them get out of trouble. He doesn’t trust _anyone_. He kills and he kills and he kills…

    And yet… Here is Wade, _protecting_ him. _Saving_ him. Wade’s given him food, he’s listened to him, he’s _helped_. Which is more than Peter can say for anyone else in his life (not that he’s blaming them – it’s a very simple fact that while Tony and Aunt May had _noticed_ something was wrong, nothing they’d done had _helped_.)

    And trust? That’s the final hurdle. And the final hurdle is staring him straight in the face, a concerned frown turning the corners of Wade’s lips down.

    Peter quite suddenly decides he doesn’t _want_ Wade to stop. Not now, not ever.

    “I like the nest,” he says boldly, fingers itching to pull Wade’s stupid mask off. He feels reckless, all his worries disappearing the second he’d made his decision.

    (Of course, he’s going to agonize over it later. That’s expected.)

    Wade freezes, his mouth falling open. “You – you _do_?” he asks incredulously.

    “I do,” Peter repeats.

    Wade still seems confused. “Then this _is_ okay? Because I can – well, I _can’t_ leave, but if you give me a hard no I can just stab myself and _trick_ myself into letting go of you and then you can run, and I _promise_ I won’t chase you –”

    “Wade,” Peter interrupts, sickened by the thought of Wade hurting himself _purposely_ (although really, it shouldn’t come as any sort of surprise. Wade’s _terrible_ at taking care of himself). “Wade, don’t hurt yourself.”

    Wade’s silent for another long moment. “I don’t think I can promise that,” he says, voice low.

    Peter’s heart lurches in his chest, and for a wild moment he thinks he might be having a heart attack. But no, it’s just the weight of the emotions he’s feeling because Wade thinks he can protect _Peter_ but he can’t protect himself _from himself_.

    “Then I’ll protect _you_ ,” Peter hears himself say fiercely. “If… If you really want,” he flounders for a moment, unsure, “ _this_ , then that’s what’s going to happen.”

    “That’s a heavy burden to carry,” Wade says, dropping his lips back to Peter’s skin.

    “No heavier than _you_ protecting _me_ ,” Peter retorts, nerves tingling in anticipation.

    The expected remark from Wade never comes, and once again they descend into a silence. This one is more relaxed the initial one, and Peter is content to rest beneath the heavy warmth blanketing him.

    Wade’s scent, he’s only just realized, is _everywhere_. Peter can’t even smell himself anymore – it’s just _Wade_ , spicy and metallic and _safe_.

    “Can I let my wings out?” Wade asks quietly. He’s still shaking with the effort of keeping them locked down, pressed too tightly against his spine for it to be comfortable.

    “If I can take off your mask,” Peter replies simply, resisting the urge to whimper when Wade slowly pulls his face from Peter’s neck.

    This time, Peter’s the one who remains silent, letting Wade take the time he needs to form a response, letting him _decide_. It’s the least he can do, considering how considerate Wade has been.

    The silence isn’t anywhere near as long as he expects – not a minute later, Wade says, “Okay,” and lets go of Peter’s wrists.

    Peter is, understandably, a little thrown by the easy acceptance. He’d sort of expected Wade to worry, expected him to need reassurance that yes, Peter _is_ sure and no, Peter _won’t_ run… But maybe he shouldn’t _expect_ things from Wade. Maybe it's a better idea to just... Roll with it.

    His hands, when he lifts them, are shaking. He’s not stupid enough to think Wade doesn’t notice, although he does hope the mercenary won’t say anything, because he isn’t sure he can handle a badly told joke right now. His fingers brush along Wade’s jaw, silently taking in the textures that make up Wade’s skin. He stays there a while before he moves on to the mask.

    The mask is actually nowhere near as stiff as Peter expected. The fabric is warm beneath his fingers, and Peter thinks he could almost fool himself into believing that the mask _is_ Wade’s skin if he didn’t already know better.

    Peter pulls the mask up, biting his lip a little. He’s not scared of what he’ll see – more accurately, he’s not worried about Wade’s scars. They’re actually sort of interesting. The only reason he’s bothered by them is the passing remarks Wade says about them, and the overall cloud of negativity and disgust that hangs off Wade’s broad shoulders whenever the scars are mentioned.

    His breath catches in his throat the moment their eyes meet. Wade’s eyes are blue, clear and deep and so expressive that Peter’s almost sure he can tell what the other man is thinking.

    “Hi,” Peter says, voice hardly more than a whisper. He swallows again, his heart thumping in his chest. He can’t tear his eyes away from Wade’s.

    It takes a moment, but eventually a warm smile crosses Wade’s face. “Hey there, baby boy,” he replies, his voice rough and shaking.

    The next moment, Wade’s expression turns panicked. With a full body shudder, Wade’s wings erupt from beneath his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of forgot that this chapter was mostly written when I posted the last chapter, so you realistically could have had this chapter a few days ago. Better late than never though, right?
> 
> I actually wrote the ending to this chapter first, before the majority of the rest of it, because I like cliffhangers and I am evil :3
> 
> So let me know what you think, I love all your comments so much! Long or short, they all mean the world to me!


	10. Chapter 10

    They both freeze. Wade has apologies written in his eyes even as his wings flare wider, feathers puffed and spread to maximize their size. Not that they really need to – Wade’s wings are _huge_ , easily a few feet longer than average. The feathers Peter can see are black with a faint green sheen.

    It takes a while for Peter to realize he’s not freaking out. Of course, the wings abrupt appearance _had_ startled him, but now that he’s focused on the fact that there are _wings_ hovering over him, caging him, trapping him… He’s surprisingly unbothered.

    He _thinks_ it has to do with the setting. Nests, no matter how badly they’ve been made, are _safe_. It’s an inherent instinct, something the winged and the wingless share.

    “Peter?” Wade says softly. “Are you… Is this alright?”

    “Fine,” Peter replies, voice vaguely unsteady because he’s not sure _why_ he’s fine. And if it’s not to do with the setting, Peter’s not sure what exactly it is that makes this okay for him.

    Wade huffs. “I didn’t mean for them to come out like that,” he mutters, almost sounding embarrassed.

    “It’s okay,” Peter says.

    Wade’s quiet, eyes focused off to the side. He looks like he’s listening to someone, and Peter realizes that this must be is his face whenever the boxes are talking to him.

    Peter wonders how many people have seen this expression.

    “You’re right,” Wade mutters suddenly. “I don’t get it either.”

    “Don’t get what?” Peter asks.

    Wade blinks, his attention shifting back to Peter. “Why is this okay? I’m not _complaining_ – I’m questioning your sanity.”

    Peter tilts his head. His fingers have started tracing the scars on Wade’s face again, and judging by the way Wade is pressing into the contact, he’s not used to being touched like this. Peter toys with the idea of finding everyone who's ever hurt Wade and webbing them upside down for an entire day. It's the closest he'll let himself come to actually killing them.

    “Why are you questioning my sanity?” he asks.

    Wade makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat. “That’s really fucking distracting,” he mutters to himself, but it’s not a ‘stop’ so Peter ignores him. “People don’t _like_ me, baby boy. If I did this to anyone else…”

    “For,” Peter corrects absently.

    “Four?” Wade repeats. “Four what? Four reasons? Do I have to guess? Because I think I sort of suck at guessing in these situations.”

    “No, you’re doing this _for_ me. Not _to_ me.” Peter shuffles a little, and Wade’s hands move to rest against his ribs, too gentle to hurt him but with enough pressure to remind him he’s _not going anywhere_. “It’s an important distinction,” he adds when Wade looks at him like he’s crazy.

    “It’s an important – Peter, I know you’re missing out on some things because of what happened with your wings, so let me explain to you a thing.”

    “No, let _me_ explain something to _you_ ,” Peter says, pulling his fingers reluctantly away from Wade’s skin to press one against his lips. He’s not actually expecting that to work, but Wade falls silent, eyes wide in surprise. Peter waits a beat, and then nods to himself, a smirk curling the corners of his lips.

    Hell yes, he can shut Wade Wilson up.

    “I may be lacking in the wing department,” he begins, trying not to flinch when he says it, “but that doesn’t mean I’m completely ignorant of the practices of the winged. A nest is intended, first and foremost, to create a place of safety. It doesn’t matter if you make it with the intention of m-mating or not.” He blushes a little at that, trying to ignore the way the corners of Wade’s mouth kick up in amusement.

    “My point,” he continues, “is that you wanted me to feel _safe_. That’s why you built the nest.”

    “But I _do_ want to mate with you,” Wade points out, speaking around Peter’s finger. Peter splutters, flushing an even darker shade of red as he pulls his finger away. “And no one wants to mate with _me_.”

    The words Peter wants to say get stuck in his throat, and he splutters again, glaring when Wade laughs at him, voice warm and deep. And, oh, _oh_ , maybe _that’s_ why he’s not freaking out. It’s less of the nest thing and more of the _Wade_.

    “I don’t think the nest is why I’m okay with seeing your wings,” he blurts out. The sentence makes Wade frown, confusion in his eyes. And Peter _needs_ to tell him, although he’s not sure that Wade will _understand_.

    “Then what –”

    “I think it’s because they’re _your_ wings,” Peter says, blushing again. But he doesn’t look away from Wade, keeping his eyes on Wade’s, waiting with baited breath for the realization to hit him.

    “Because they’re _my_ wings?” Wade repeats. His fingers press a little harder against Peter’s ribs, making a dull sort of pain pulse. It’s not enough to bother him, so Peter ignores it. “That’s crazy.”

    Peter sighs, eyes drawn to the wings that are still arched impressively over Wade’s strong shoulders. “Can I,” he starts. He stops. Takes a breath.

    Wade tilts his head questioningly at him. “Can you...?” he prompts.

    “CanItouch?” Peter asks in a rush, twisting his fingers together nervously. “I really kind of sorta wanna… touch.”

    “Touch my wings?” Wade asks. His mouth has fallen open again. “Baby boy, _can_ you touch? Without freaking out, I mean.”

    “Only one way to find out,” Peter mutters, poking at Wade’s shoulder. “Lemme touch.”

    “Can we _please_ do that later?” Wade whines. “I can’t – I need to scent you. You don’t exactly smell like me now – you smell like pain and bandages and _medicine_ – and it’s getting really hard to concentrate over here.”

    “Oh,” Peter says, surprised. “I thought I smelled like you already.” He realizes it’s a stupid thing to say a moment later, when Wade groans and leans down to lick up Peter’s neck. “Oh boy,” he murmurs, yelping in surprise when Wade shifts over him and something suspiciously hard rubs against his hip.

    With that one, thoughtless sentence, Peter’s basically given Wade the green light. Generally speaking, scenting is another one of those things Peter’s missed out on. He doesn’t catch the same hormones, isn’t wired to react the same way to certain scent cues.

    He _can_ smell them – his sense of smell is a little more enhanced than normal people’s, so he can probably smell more than them, _ha_  – but he doesn’t recognize them as ‘mate’ or ‘enemy’ or ‘rival’. He’s smelled the scents correlating to different situations enough to guess at what they mean, but his brain doesn’t automatically scream ‘mate’ at him when he smells Wade’s scent.

    His brain _does_ tell him he’s safe surrounded by Wade’s scent, so that’s a plus.

    Wade’s nose is really, really warm. Most people have cold noses, and it tickles or feels a little uncomfortable when said cold nose presses against warm skin. But Wade’s isn’t cold, and Peter shivers a little when he feels the scarred skin rubbing gently at the skin under his jaw.

    “Wade,” Peter whispers, tilting his head back obligingly when Wade’s nose nudges his chin. Wade makes a low, grumbly noise of interest, the sounds rumbling along Peter’s skin in a way that makes his breath catch. “I want to touch,” he says.

    “Baby boy, I’m busy,” Wade grunts.

    “Wade, I can touch while you… Do your thing,” Peter points out patiently.

    Wade pauses for a minute. “He’s right,” he mutters eventually, cluing Peter into the fact he was having another conversation with the boxes. “ _Fine_ ,” Wade huffs, as if what Peter is asking is a _huge_ inconvenience. “But sssh now, okay? I need to concentrate.”

    Wade’s wings shift until the left one is hovering closer to Peter. He reaches up, a little hesitant, but all of his worries about freaking out vanish when his fingers touch Wade’s feathers.

    They’re so _soft_. Peter isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He strokes the feathers gently, interrupted from time to time by Wade pushing his head back or accidentally moving his wing away. Wade returns his wing each time Peter makes an unhappy noise. It's... Nice. Peter decides he  _likes_ how Wade's feathers feel, and when he presses his hand more deeply into the feathers, threading them through his fingers, Wade makes a low sound of contentment. Which of course makes Peter blush all over again, the heat spreading all the way down his neck, where Wade is still nuzzling.

    They stay like this, quiet and peaceful, until Peter’s phone rings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finished this last night/early this morning (3 o'clock) but I didn't post it because my roommates dog came to the window and started barking at me to let him, which of course I cannot do. So I retreated to bed in the hopes that he would stfu, which he did, thankfully.
> 
> Another riveting chapter in my life - thankfully, I write _wayyyyy_ more interesting fics, right? Comment and let me know what you think - who's calling? For what purpose? Will these two get it on?
> 
> (Jfc, they better, I _hate_ slow builds *frantic screaming*)
> 
> Oh right, Wade's wings: Greater Yellow Headed Vulture. Because when I think 'big wings', I think 'vulture'.
> 
> Enjoy~


	11. Chapter 11

    After a very brief period of panic, where Peter goes tense beneath Wade and Wade lets go of Peter in order to grab a knife from somewhere – where there _weapons_ in the nest? Did that make Wade feel better? – Peter recognizes the ringtone with a tiny, barely there groan.

    It’s Aunt May.

    “Oh boy,” he whispers, pressing his hands against Wade’s chest. The mercenary obligingly sits up, wings shuffling in a contented fashion on his back.

    “Important call?” Wade asks. The knife has already disappeared back to wherever it came from, and Wade is regarding the phone with something that looks a lot like annoyance. Peter bites his lip to keep from laughing.

    “It’s my aunt,” Peter says. “If I don’t answer it, she’ll worry.”

    Understanding flashes across Wade’s face. “Then I guess you’d better answer it.”

    Instead of grabbing the phone, Wade leans back in and inhales near Peter’s throat. Peter shivers as Wade’s nose runs along his jaw, goose bumps chasing after the feeling of rough skin against his. For a moment, he lets himself fantasise about simply ignoring the call, but he would never do that to Aunt May, especially not when it was _his_ fault he was the only family she had.

    Wade hums as he pulls away. “You smell like me now,” he says, his voice a happy growl that _does_ things to Peter’s stomach and makes him wish all over again that he could just ignore the phone call like he so wants to. “So we’re all good.” He sits up and picks up Peter’s phone from the bedside table. “Here you go.”

    “I – thank you,” Peter replies automatically, pressing the answer button before his mind catches up with his fingers. He curses softly and brings the phone to his ear. “Hey Aunt May,” Peter says, almost tripping over the words in his haste to get them out.

    He hesitates for all of two seconds before he speaks again, eyes glued to Wade. “This really isn’t a good time – can I call you back later?” Wade offers him a smirk, knees squeezing his hips lightly.

    She doesn’t respond straight away, and that’s not right. Peter tilts his head, brow furrowed. He’d expect her to guess at what was going on, because if there’s one thing Aunt May is good at (apart from cooking, cleaning, sewing, and generally being a lovely human being) it’s reading between the lines. Peter can count on one hand the amount of times he’s managed to keep a secret from his aunt.

    “Aunt May?” he asks, pressing the phone a little tighter to his ear. Wade’s watching, eyes narrowed as they flick from Peter’s face to the phone. The knife is back in his hand again.

    “Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater…” Peter freezes, because that voice… That voice is definitely _not_ Aunt May’s, but it sounds absurdly familiar and sends a bolt of cold fear through his chest. “Had an aunt and couldn’t keep her…”

    For a moment, Peter’s locked in a battle with himself. He has the overwhelming urge to throw the phone away, to flee from Wade’s nest and to get to Aunt May’s as fast as he can. It doesn’t matter that he’s injured, it doesn’t matter that his suit is ripped and stained.

    The more logical side of the argument points out that Peter’s actually rather lousy at tracking. Wade, on the other hand, is an expert. Peter throws a panicked glance in Wade’s direction, only to see him disappearing out the door.

    “Where is my aunt?” Peter asks, voice shaking. “What have you done?” He staggers to his feet, ignoring his ribs as they scream at him to lay back down, and hobbles after Wade.

    The chuckle is malicious, raising the hairs along the back of Peter’s neck. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Peter,” the man says, and Peter’s heart skips a beat in fear. “Your aunt is safe. But she won’t be.”

    Peter makes an urgent noise, and Wade is back at his side. Peter’s not at all surprised to see the mask back on, his katanas returned to sit against his back. His wings are gone, pressed against his spine. Even with the mask on, his expression is terrifyingly calm.

    Wade looks like a man who’s about to start a war, and Peter wonders if that isn’t the best way to describe Deadpool.

    Wade takes the phone from Peter’s numb fingers and presses the loudspeaker button, holding it close to Peter’s face. He arranges himself so that he’s arched around Peter, chest pressed to Peter’s back. Peter can feel his warmth pressing along his shoulder blades with each breath the mercenary takes.

    Peter’s not sure whether to laugh or cry – Wade has his back, in the most literal sense of the phrase.

    “Are you alone, or is your _mate_ with you?” the man asks, reminding Peter of the direness of the current situation.

    “I don’t have a mate,” Peter replies automatically, and feels Wade nuzzle against his neck in response. He wishes it weren’t true, but Wade’s only scented him. There are steps, _rules_. Wade needs to meet Peter’s family, needs to meet _Aunt May_. And with the way things are now…

    The man on the phone laughs cruelly. “We know you’ve been spending much of your time with the mercenary named Deadpool. We were led to believe that he was up to the job of bringing you in.” He tuts, and Peter bristles at the insult. “We were _very_ disappointed with his performance. But no matter. If you aren’t mated, that makes this _much_ easier.”

    “What do you want?” Peter asks.

    “We want you to meet with us,” the man says. “Tonight, on the docks. _Alone_. We have a lot to discuss.”

    Peter hesitates. There’s something that’s telling him not to ask the next question that’s on the tip of his tongue. Even Wade is shaking his head against Peter’s back, like he knows what Peter’s going to say next.

    “Who are you?” Peter demands. “What did I ever do to you?”

    The man is silent for a moment. “Peter, Peter,” he sighs, almost sounding sad. “Don’t you remember us? We turned you into what you are.”

    Peter’s too shocked to respond, and the man hangs up with an ominous _click_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM!
> 
> Did you see _that_ coming?
> 
> Who's it, who's it? There are plenty of you who haven't used your three guesses, you know~
> 
> (Happy birthday darkknight421993 ;) )


	12. Chapter 12

    “What did he mean?” Peter asks, staring blankly at the phone still in his hand. “Wade? What did he mean?”

    Wade shifts to take the phone from his hand. “I think you know exactly what he meant,” he says, voice soft and edged with enough danger to make Peter’s spider sense tingle.

    “I,” Peter begins, but the words get lost and he snaps his mouth shut.

    “You’re not going alone.” Wade sounds unusually serious, and Peter jerks his head around to stare at him with huge, wide eyes.

    “You can’t come,” he says, hating how lost he sounds. “You – you _heard_ him, you can’t show up, he’ll _kill her_ –”

    “To the meeting,” Wade interrupts smoothly. “I can't come _to the meeting_. I’ll set up surveillance. Hell, I will go to Stark’s Tower and get that asshole to help.”

    “I – _no_ , Tony doesn’t know who _I am_. This – this is personal. I can’t – Aunt May doesn’t _know_ about Spiderman.”

    Wade places his hands on either side of Peter’s face, and Peter feels better immediately. His shoulders relax marginally, and he closes his eyes as he inhales Wade’s scent. The fact he's sort of accepted that Wade's going to be his mate is  _definitely_  helping the situation.

    “Peter,” Wade says. “ _You aren’t going alone_. Those dickwads have given us _time_ , okay? A much better idea would have been to call and tell you to come _right now_.  Trust me on that, baby boy. They fucked up.”

    Peter’s eyes open. “I – Wade, I can’t…”

    It’s embarrassing, not being able to find his words. But Peter hasn’t felt this terrified for someone else in a long time – not since Gwen. And given how _that_ had turned for him, he thinks his incoherence is justified.

    Wade leans down to press his forehead to Peter’s, arms moving to wrap around Peter’s shoulders. Peter can feel Wade’s wings twitching with each inhale and exhale.

    “ _You aren’t going alone_. That’s it. End of discussion. I will get you and your aunt out. Alone, if I have to. You have my word, baby boy.”

    Peter takes a breath. All he can smell is Wade, and he relaxes a little more. He’s _safe_ with the mercenary, he _knows_ he is. Can feel it on an instinctive level, something closer to his spider sense than rational thought. He lifts his arms to wrap them around Wade’s waist, pressing closer to the other man.

    Wade shifts, planting his chin on top of Peter’s head and humming. The noise is even better than the silence, and Peter feels the terror getting pushed aside. He can’t afford to panic right now. His aunt is in danger, and he has already promised himself that _he_ will die before she gets killed because of him. That promise may have been made with Spiderman in mind, but this situation is just as relevant.

    “I want Tony’s help,” Peter says, his voice muffled by Wade’s chest. “Not because I don’t trust you, I just… I don’t want you to get hurt, too.”

    The chuckle that rumbles through Wade’s chest sounds like thunder, heralding the arrival of a storm. “Shall we go then, baby boy?”

    Peter nods, wishing he felt braver, wishing the tremor in his stomach wasn't so strong. “I’m still scared,” he admits.

    Wade presses a kiss into his hair. “Then you’re even braver than you’re giving yourself credit for,” he says, like he knows exactly what Peter is thinking.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Peter’s shifting nervously in the cab, pressed to Wade’s side. His fingers are tapping against his knee, an offbeat pattern that stutters and stops.

    Wade doesn’t think Peter realizes he’s doing it.

    [ _Are you stupid_?] White demands. [The _last_ time we went to Tony fucking Stark, we got thrown out the window!]

    {To be fair, that was _all_ Widow,} Yellow says. {Besides, we’re doing this for Petey. Stark _can’t_ be mad at us!}

    Peter presses closer to Wade, and the next second the cab is stopping. Wade tosses a handful of notes at the man in front – pity he hadn’t been able to get a hold of Dopinder. Dopinder would have taken a crisp high-five, although Wade's pretty sure Peter would make him pay Dopinder anyway. He takes Peter’s hand and walks confidently towards the intimidating structure.

    [I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again. _Compensating_ , much?]

    {He _is_ really short.}

    [I don’t like him.]

    “So you’ve said,” Wade mutters, throwing a concerned look over his shoulder. He needn’t have worried – his baby boy is sticking close, almost stepping on the backs of Wade’s boots as he trails behind. "Countless times."

    Peter looks up at him, blinks, and then flashes him a tremulous smile. Wade makes sure he squeezes Peter’s fingers – _gently_ , he doesn’t want to _break_ him – and pushes the door open.

    Almost immediately, several different alarms go off. Armed guards rush at him, wings flared. Peter makes a tiny, scared noise that in turn makes Wade’s chest ache.  _Especially_ now that he knows the reason.

    [Put your wings away, you ass hat!]

    {Stop scaring Petey!}

    [We’ll fuck you up real good.]

    “Fellas, fellas,” Wade says, his hand still holding Peter’s. He can feel the younger man shaking. “Play nice, now. We’re here to see Mr Stark, and I can promise that if you try and stop us, I have some mighty fine bullets with your name on ‘em.”

    He makes sure his voice is low and dangerous by the end, and if his free hand is moving towards the gun holstered on his thigh… Well, he needs to make sure he’s getting his point across, doesn’t he?

    Peter tugs on his hand. “Don’t hurt them,” he says softly. “We need them on our side, remember?”

    “You got it, baby boy,” Wade replies, his free hand re-positioning to sit on his hip. He tilts his head, keeping Peter hidden behind him. “Look, fellas. _Really_ urgent situation, actually, it’s a _hostage_ situation –”

    “He’s got a hostage!” someone shouts, and Wade facepalms.

    {Maybe this wasn’t the _best_ idea…}

    [Coming to Stark Tower armed to the teeth, and Peter in civilian get-up? Yeah, this was a _horrible_ idea. Why didn’t Peter talk us out of this?]

    Peter makes an annoyed noise and steps around Wade. “I need to speak with Tony Stark,” he says, voice carrying in the sudden silence. Wade isn’t fooled by his confident appearance – Peter’s still shaking, tremors running through their joined hands.

    Wade can’t see Peter’s face, but whatever expression is on it is enough to convince the winged douche-brigade to lower their weapons. Their wings settle against their backs, and the tension in Peter’s shoulders loosens a little.

    “Not that we don’t appreciate the welcoming party,” Wade says, “But we _really_ gotta speak with Stark.”

    “Your presence has been requested in Mr Stark’s private offices,” a voice said, apparently coming from everywhere at once. Right, _Jarvis_. “Please make your way to the elevator.”

    Peter’s the one who leads, this time. He knows the Tower a little better than Wade, who’s been blacklisted for longer than he can properly remember. They step into the elevator, and the doors close smoothly.

    “Forgive me for taking so long to identify you, Mr Parker,” the AI says, voice much quieter in the enclosed space. “My systems were only at half capacity – Mr Stark has been ‘tinkering’ with my servers.”

    Peter’s made himself as small as possible, hunched behind Wade. It’s a habit Wade’s noticed – when he’s not in his suit, when he’s _Peter_ as opposed to _Spiderman_ , Petey likes to make himself invisible.

    “Mr Stark is aware of your alter ego, but has not shared the information with the Avengers and SHIELD,” the AI continues. “He would like to express his surprise that you came here as yourself, and that you are accompanied by Mr Wilson.”

    “He can’t say that himself?” Wade mutters.

    “He trusted I would be able to phrase it in such a way that would not offend you, Mr Wilson, and potentially put Mr Parker’s life in danger.”

    The assumption stings, and this time it’s Peter squeezing Wade’s hand.

    “I wouldn’t hurt him,” Wade growls, expression twisted into a snarl.

    “Your track record is hardly convincing, Mr Wilson. Not to mention that fact that you met Mr Parker because you were shooting at him.”

    “That’s in the past,” Peter says, his voice hard. “I came to Tony for help, Jarvis, not for him to pick on Wade.”

    The elevator stops, and the doors open. Peter steps out after Wade, sticking close to his side. The wingless billionaire steps out of his office to meet them, an unreadable expression on his face. Wade and Peter stop a few feet from the billionaire, and the silence around them is charged.

    “Hi Tony,” Peter says quietly.

    “Hey asshole,” Wade adds, voice a little more cutting and a lot louder.

    Stark’s eyes narrow. “Peter,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

    Wade doesn't miss the way he's purposely ignored, but he's more than happy to ignore the petty way Stark's acting on the condition that he helps Peter. And as far as he's concerned, there's no way the billionaire is going to say no. Not if he gets his way. He's not afraid of the man standing in front of him, not afraid to hurt him if it means Peter gets what he needs. Wade's hand caresses the hilt of his katana.

    “I need your help,” Peter says, and Wade shoots him a concerned look at the shake in his voice. “They’ve got my aunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Wade's POV? I think he's gonna get some more screen time in the next couple of chapters, and the boxes are _definitely_ going to be more chatty. Quiet boxes are Peter's fault, blame him!
> 
> Also, yay! Tony! (Of course he's going to help, honestly Wade!)


	13. Chapter 13

    Peter knows Tony well enough to read the concern in the way his hands move. Right now, they’re flaring wide, his fingers making nervous little movements. It’s almost like he’s worried that he’s not allowed to be concerned.

    “When?” he asks, spinning and beckoning them into his office. He slides into a chair and starts typing, fingers dancing across the keys.

    “I – I don’t know when,” Peter admits. “But the call came… Less than twenty minutes ago.”

    Wade hums thoughtfully, a warm weight at Peter’s side. “Which puts us at, let’s see… Six hours since initial abduction? Sound about right?” Wade tilts his head, listening to whatever response he’s getting from the boxes.

    Peter makes a mental note to ask Wade about them – do they have names? A gender? What do they talk about? It’s actually quite a long mental note, and it means Peter’s zoned out long enough to miss some of the conversation.

    “You think it’s someone from Peter’s past?” Tony asks, arms folded across his chest as he stares at Wade. “Why?”

    “They said ‘We turned you into what you are’,” Wade replies, and Peter feels his stomach drop at the words. “Which has me thinking it’s either something to do with Peter’s powers, or something else.”

    “Something else,” Tony mutters.

    Peter turns to Wade, mouth open in surprise. “You – you think it has something to do with…” He makes a frustrated noise when his breathing picks up, fingers clenching around nothing.

    Except, they’re not clutching nothing – Peter’s still holding Wade’s hand, and with a little exclamation of horror he lets go. He’d been clenching pretty hard, hard enough to break fingers, but Wade hadn’t reacted.

    “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, reaching over to inspect Wade’s fingers. Thankfully, it looks like nothing is broken - or if it was, it's already healed - and Wade suffers through his inspection with a surprising amount of patience.

    Eventually, though, he sighs, gently disentangling his fingers from Peter’s, only to wrap their hands together again a second later. “I’m fine, baby boy,” Wade says gently.

    Peter ducks his head. “You think it’s the guys who cut off my wings?” he asks, pretending not to hear how fragile and terrified his voice sounds.

    Tony raises a hand. “Uh, can I say I knew about that? Because that popped up pretty early in the Peter Parker discovery business.”

    Peter squints at him. “Tony, have you been looking into my personal life without my permission?” he asks.

    Wade snorts. “It’s the only thing he’s good at,” he mutters, whistling innocently when Tony turns to glare at him.

    Peter’s not angry – he’s actually glad he doesn’t have to explain everything again. Any other time, yes, he'd be furious. But... “It’s okay,” he says, gently squeezing Wade's fingers. "I'm glad he knows."

    “Okay, good, because if you think it _is_ those guys, you’re in luck,” Tony says, fingers tapping across his keypad again. He swipes an arm up, and two pictures appears on the wall beside them. “Meet Roger Greaves and Nathan Argus.”

    Peter stares. “Who are they?” he asks. The pictures are old, showing two men, one of whom looks barely older than Peter. The other one has grey peppered through his hair. Neither has their wings photographed, but Peter has a sinking suspicion he knows _exactly_ what colour Tony’s going to tell him they are.

    “Oh, just your average run of the mill criminals,” Tony replies a little carelessly. “They’ve both been arrested for possession, driving without a license, stealing, starting multiple bar fights that ended with someone – usually someone with dark wings – landing in hospital, not to mention they tried to rob a bank last year.”

    Wade laughs. “I heard about them. Bunch of fucking _morons_.” And then his voice drops to a low growl, and any humour vanishes so quickly Peter’s almost convinced Wade’s been replaced with a completely different person. “Are they the ones who hurt Peter?”

    If Tony’s worried that Wade’s going to attack him, he’s doing a really good job of hiding it. “Morons is right,” Tony agrees, looking a little horrified that he _actually_ agreed with the mercenary about something. “Roger – he’s the older one – forgot to remind Nathan to wear his mask. That’s how they got caught.”

    Peter gives a shaky chuckle. “I’ll be really embarrassed if it turns out these two _did_ cut – um.” He winces, wishing he could finish the thought. 

    Wade tugs him closer, and Peter knows he wants to let his wings out and wrap them around Peter. Peter nuzzles into the contact, breathing deeply. He’s getting really, really worried - if these people have Aunt May, who knows what's already happened to her. He knows how cruel they were to him, and he was a  _child_. Aunt May's wings are pale, pretty colours, colours that  _can't_ be mistaken for black unless they're covered in soot.

    For some reason, that thought fails to comfort him.

    “I don’t _know_ if they’re the guys who did that to you,” Tony admits. “There’s no evidence to link them, but I mean… They’re one of the only duos I could find in New York at the time with matching wings.”

    “Okay,” Peter murmurs. “So we think these two have Aunt May.” He bites his bottom lip. “What do we do now?”

    “What about the other two?” Wade asks. “The ones already in prison?”

    “Michael Black,” the man with the rainbow wings, “and Arthur Turner,” the man with the black and green wings. “The first thing they did that was against the law was…” Tony trails off making an odd gesture that Wade seems to interpret well enough. “Well. Their records are entirely spotless before this.”

    “Family? Friends?”

    “What are you looking for?” Peter asks softly. Tony’s already working, fingers flying over the keyboard as he barks orders at Jarvis. Wade glances down at him.

    “I was hired to cripple you and bring you in,” Wade says. “Someone wanted you alive. But after I… _Turned down_ the offer, they hired people who shot at you to kill. They somehow knew exactly who to call,” he gestures to the first two men. “People who would have no problems killing you because hey, they’d already cut off your wings.”

    Peter flinches. “You think they know I’m Spiderman?” Peter’s afraid of the answer, afraid that if Wade says yes he’ll break all over again. All the evidence says they do - but maybe,  _maybe_ , the fact he's been shot at as Spiderman doesn't have anything to do with Aunt May's kidnapping. Stranger things have happened to him before.

    “I think it’s a possibility,” Wade replies gently. It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either. Peter takes a deep breath.

    “Alright,” Tony announces. “Rainbow wings got some hits. He has family in New York who apparently run one of the finer gangs in Hell’s Kitchen.”

    Peter blinks. “That’s Daredevil’s turf,” he says. The other vigilante has expressed his dislike of others encroaching on his turf enough times that Peter knows better than to just randomly swing by.

    “Team Red,” Wade mutters to himself, sounding excited. “Nothing else?” he asks Tony. When Tony shakes his head, Wade hums. “Looks like when we get Miss May back, I’m going to stop off in Hell’s Kitchen,” he says.

    “What? No, Wade,” Peter starts, but Wade just presses a finger to his lips and he shushes. He glances up, eyes wide.

 

* * *

* * *

  

    Those doe eyes should be fucking _illegal_. Wade sighs. “Baby boy, you gotta know whoever’s after you isn’t going to stop,” he says.  _Especially_ if they know Peter is Spiderman, which seems  _real_ likely considering Wade's never been one for coincidences.

    [They’ll just keep coming.]

    {And not in the fun way!}

    [More like a bad case of the flu.]

    {The flu with guns!}

    [Really?]

    {Pew, pew, pew! Bang! Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!}

    [Aaaaand we lost Yellow. Nothing new there.]

    { _Argh my knee_!}

    “I’m not going to let someone have _another_ go at you,” Wade continues, ignoring the boxes as best he can. “It’s happened too many times already.”

    Peter’s biting his bottom lip again in a _very_ distracting way. Wade almost misses what he says, too busy fantasizing about biting that plump lip himself, just to hear the gasp he _knows_ he’ll get in response.

    {You _bet_ he’ll gasp,} Yellow purrs.

    [Oh, look who’s back. Did you enjoy yourself?]

    { _Yes_!} Yellow squeals.

    “I don’t want you to kill anyone,” Peter says, his voice soft. “I don’t – it’s not something I’m comfortable with.”

    [We already knew that.]

    {That was always going to be the biggest hurdle.}

    [That and our _face_.]

    {Which passed with flying colours, apparently!}

    [Y’know, usually it’s the killing that passes, the face that throws us to the wolves.]

    {The opposite had to happen at some point!}

    “If I promise not to kill them?” Wade asks.

    Peter’s brow wrinkles. “You’ll hurt them, though.”

    “Petey,” Wade says, unable to stop a full body shudder running through him as he forces his wings back against his spine. He can tell, by the way Peter’s eyes flicker to his shoulders, that he noticed Wade’s almost slip. But he doesn’t seem scared, not like the first time he realized Wade did, in fact, have wings.

    “I’m not letting them get away with _nothing_ ,” he continues, swallowing the lump in his throat that he’s pretty sure is there because he’s _feeling_ things. Remembering the way Peter had been, the terror in his pretty brown eyes... Yeah, he never wants to see that again. If that means keeping his wings in, he can do that. “You can’t ask me to do that, baby boy.”

    Stark clears his throat. “Look, do you two need a room?” he asks.

    [Rude.]

    {Mind your business, asshole!}

    “I’m sure that’s none of your business,” Peter says sharply, glaring at Stark. Wade looks between the two, thrown that Peter sounds so angry.

    {I love him even more!}

    [Maybe he’s just angry because he thinks that Stark’s saying we’re mated?]

    {But he _wants_ us!}

    [Except for the whole killing business.]

    {But that’s such a little thing.}

    [Not to him.]

    “Jarvis, can you show Peter to the bathroom?” Stark says, and Wade realizes he missed a big chunk of conversation. “I’ll wait here with Deadpool.”

    Peter shoots Stark a narrow look, but leaves the two of them alone after pressing a fleeting kiss to the side of Wade’s head. Stark waits until the door closes behind Peter to turn and look at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! New chapter! Yay!
> 
> Sorry guys, writing Stark as a dick to Wade is like, _so_ easy. Also, I'm pretty sure at one stage Wade's broken into Stark's Tower and just... Messed with stuff. He probably _accidentally_ broke lots of things too.
> 
> Don't forget to comment!


	14. Chapter 14

    “What’s your angle?”

    [Huh?]

    {Say what?}

    “My angle?” Wade repeats. “Are we talking best camera angle, because I’d _love_ to tell you, but first I’d need to know why you want pictures of little old me –”

    “What’s your angle with Peter?”

    Wade goes stiff, hands finding a solid grip on his two favourite guns. “I don’t like the way you’re asking me, Stark,” he says, voice deliberately low and dangerous in a way that makes most men shake and back the fuck down.

    But Tony Stark isn’t most men, and whatever he think Wade’s doing, he’s being pretty brave about it. He doesn’t fucking move, dark eyes narrowed warningly. “Your angle. Your goal. What do you _want_ from him? He doesn’t have any money.”

    {You think we don’t know that?} Yellow screeches.

    Wade’s just about to repeat that when White interrupts. [No, don’t. Then he’ll just think we’re after something worse.]

    {Worse?}

    [He’ll probably think we’re making Peter pay with his body,] White explains.

    “I wouldn’t do that,” Wade snarls, speaking to both the boxes and Stark. Sure, he’s fucked up, but he’s not _sick_. He’s got his morals, ambiguous as they may be sometimes. “Not to Peter.”

    Stark scoffs. “You have to want something, Deadpool. You don’t _do_ things without a motive.”

    Wade grits his teeth. “The only motive I have is to keep Peter safe,” he replies, trying desperately to keep his cool. If Peter walks in to find he’s killed Stark… Well, that would be bad.

    “Bullshit,” Stark snaps, full of righteous rage. “You want _something_ from him. You know he’s wingless, right? He can’t mate with you. He can’t _fly_.”

    “Bullshit,” Wade snarls back. “He can fly better than any of us. Like _you’re_ so fond of pointing out, we don’t need _wings_ to fly.”

    Stark scoffs. “You don’t care about anyone,” he says, and that makes Wade want to pull the arc reactor in his chest out and watch him die _slowly_. His wings shudder, making his hands clench with the effort of keeping them down.

    His instincts are screaming to defend himself, to show that he _is_ mate material, to _prove_ he’s good enough for the little doe-eyed superhero. But Wade is well aware that he’s _not_ , not really, but Peter wants to be with him anyway and he’s decided that trusting Peter’s judgement is probably going to be better for him than trusting his own.

    [He wants us to let out our wings,] White says abruptly.

    {You think?}

    [He doesn’t _know_. He’ll be like every other wingless we’ve met. His instincts will be all up in a tizzy.]

    {He really doesn’t like not knowing things…} Yellow says slowly.

    Wade sneers. “You could just _ask_ ,” he snarls. “You don’t have to be a dick.”

    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

    “Fucking _sure_ you don’t. But okay, fine. Take a look.”

    Wade flares his wings, relishing in the way Stark’s eyes widen at the threatening display. He feels his feathers ruffling, puffing up to make his wings seem even bigger than they already are. Wade grins, rolling his shoulders just enough to ruffle his feathers even more.

    A low squeak comes from behind him, and Wade spins in surprise. He sees Peter, staring at his wings with wide eyes and an open mouth. The response is immediate – his feathers smooth down, wings arching in a more intimate manner that he can’t quiet control.

    Peter’s shoulders roll, like he wants to do something similar, before his eyes go suspiciously blank and his mouth goes flat.

    [{Fuck,}] the boxes chorus, and Wade can’t help but agree with them. He’s fucked up. Again.

    There’s a triumphant look in Stark’s eye when Wade glances at him, and Wade realizes that he’s been out-manoeuvred. _This_ is what Stark was aiming for from the start. Wade wishes he’d realized sooner – he would never _want_ to purposely scare Peter.

    The triumphant look dies a quick death when Peter lifts his hand to stroke along the largest of Wade’s dark feathers.

    Wade almost jerks his wings away – how long has it been since someone _touched_ them like that? – but he stills himself at the last second. Peter doesn’t seem to notice, too busy moving his fingers along the outline of each feather, gentle and curious.

    [Do you think he remembers?]

    {What?}

    [What it was like to have wings.]

    {Does it matter?}

    [He lost them at twelve, right? His flights must have just started maturing.]

    {I say again: Does it _matter_?}

    Wade shakes his head slowly, watching Peter step closer, curiously focused on the grooming he’s giving Wade’s wings. Wade can feel Stark staring, knows the man is incredulous about what is happening right in front of him, but can’t bring himself to care.

    Carefully, he draws in his right wing, leaving the left one open so Peter can keep exploring it with his fingers. Wade can’t look away, caught by the open expression on Peter’s face.

    [This really isn’t the time.]

    {He’s so cute,} Yellow coos.

    [Um, hello? Peter’s aunt?]

    Wade glances up at Stark. “I’m doing this because I want to keep him safe,” he says quietly, but if Peter hears him he doesn’t respond. “Don’t question me, Stark. That’s a job I find is left best to myself.” He waits for the shorter man to look at him. “Now, you better fucking tell me you have a plan, Stark.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Peter’s not unaware of the conversation going on around him – he’s just fascinated by the texture of Wade’s wings at the moment. The feathers are smooth and sleek, and much warmer than he’d expected. The low rumble of Wade’s voice in the background is soothing.

    “…a plan, Stark.”

    Peter cocks his head, fingers stilling. Plan. They need a plan to rescue Aunt May. The thought of his aunt is like a bucket of cold water – he pulls back, looking up at Tony expectantly.

    “Right,” Tony says, sending a glance to Peter that very clearly says ‘We’re talking about this later’. “I thought that maybe we could send over some drones first, just to check out the situation.”

    “Your suits are too big,” Wade says.

    Tony rolls his eyes. “Not my suits,” he replies. “I meant these guys.” And he points to the swarm of tiny little silver things that have just _appeared_ out of thin air.

    Peter’s mouth falls open, and Wade glares. “What the hell, Stark? Don’t tell me you use these to spy on people.”

    “What? _No_. These are the prototypes. I was thinking about situations where the suits would make things worse, and I came up with these.” Tony gestures around the room.

    Peter stares a little more, amazed that something so small is flying so well. He thinks they look a little like bees – because it feels like an insult to say they look like flies, and these guys just might help him save his aunt so he wants to be polite.

    “Okay,” Peter says, holding out a hand. Three of the little drones flit over and land on his fingers. “So these guys will go and scope out the docks – where Aunt May probably _isn’t_ being held – and then what?” He glances up at Tony. “I’ll still have to show up tonight.”

    Wade hums. “But I can help with the placements of these… Little shits, and then as soon as someone walks passed we’ll know.”

    Tony nods. “Don’t worry, Peter. We’ve got this.”

    “I’ve just had an embarrassing thought,” Wade says, raising his hand like he’s in class. “I know they called on Miss May’s phone, but has anyone _actually_ checked that they have her? They could have just swiped her phone.”

    Peter’s mouth falls open. “You – you think she’s _safe_?” Peter demands, staring up at the mercenary who shifts a little self-consciously.

    “I mean, it’s a possibility, Peter. You heard what these fucking _morons_ did. Forgetting to put a mask on for a robbery? Come on, that’s pre-school stuff.” Wade scoffs, shaking his head. “Kidnapping someone requires finesse, you know.”

    No, Peter doesn’t know, but it’s an uncomfortable reminder about exactly how much time he and Wade spend on opposite sides of the law. He shakes his head a little – that’s a thought for another time, he thinks.

    “Okay,” Peter says slowly. He turns to Tony. “Can I use your phone? I can try her at home.”

    Tony tosses Peter his phone, expression unreadable. Peter thinks he’s probably annoyed that the idea didn’t occur to him first and hides a tiny smile at the thought. His stomach is still tied up in knots as he types out the familiar number, breath held tight in his chest as he waits. He puts it on loud speaker without Wade’s prompting.

    “Hello,” says a familiar voice, and Peter’s breath stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another cliffhanger. We all love cliffhangers. I know I do >:D
> 
> (And by that I mean I like writing them, not reading them.)
> 
> Don't forget to comment, and thanks to those of you who've said hi on Tumblr! I love hearing from you all <3


	15. Chapter 15

    Before Peter can get a word in, the voice of Aunt May continues. “You’ve reached May Parker. I can’t come to the phone at the moment. Please leave your name, a contact number and a short message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a lovely day.”

    The beep is loud and obnoxious, and Peter’s chest rattles in the silence that follows. His hands are shaking, and Wade is quick to reach over and pluck the phone from his fingers.

    “Could she be at work?” he asks gently, wings rustling on his back. “Peter?”

    “I – I…” Peter swallows, makes himself focus. Today is Friday. “Yes,” he says, relief flooding him so fast he feels light-headed. “She could be at work.”

    He takes the phone back, typing in a second number that is almost as familiar as the first. This time, he presses the phone to his ear, free hand reaching mindlessly for something to play with.

    “Hello,” someone says, and before she can say anything else, Peter’s speaking. It’s rude, yes, but he’s still mostly panicking and the pain from his injuries – he’d forgotten about them in the heat of the moment, but his body is reminding him of them now viciously – makes his voice short.

    “Hello, my name’s Peter Parker. I’m looking for May Parker? She’s my aunt.”

    If the woman on the other end notices that he sounds almost desperate, she doesn’t say anything. “Let me just check for you, Mr Parker,” she replies, and the cheerful waiting music starts before Peter can say thank you.

    Peter realizes that his free hands are running through the feathers of Wade’s left wing after a moment. His fingers pause, worry that he’s overstepped his bounds by touching so carelessly racing through him, but Wade shoots him a look (that he can’t see because of the mask) and Peter obligingly starts stroking Wade’s wings again.

    The wait seems to take forever. Peter’s movements are short and jittery, fingers dancing gently through Wade’s plumage. Tony’s staring, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Each heartbeat he's forced to wait makes Peter’s injuries throb, until he’s biting his lip to keep quiet.

    “Hello?”

    Peter’s breath leaves him in a rush, and for a second he can’t speak. “Aunt May,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “You’re okay.” He feels almost giddy – Aunt May is safe.

    “And just why wouldn’t I be, young man?” Aunt May replies. “Are you alright? I can’t remember the last time you called me at work.”

    “I – I couldn’t get through to your mobile,” Peter stammers, scrambling for an excuse.

    There’s a brief moment of what probably sounds like silence to Wade and Tony, but Peter can hear the sounds of his aunt rifling around in her bag. “I must have left the silly thing at home,” she says eventually. “Was there something you needed?”

    Peter pauses. Accesses the way Wade and Tony are staring at him, like they don’t actually know if he’s going to be able to lie his way out of this. He almost rolls his eyes – he’s actually a decent liar when he puts his mind to it, when it’s for the safety of someone he loves.

    “I – yes, actually,” he says. “There’s someone… Someone I’d like you to meet. He's... well, we're...” He can't make himself finish his sentences, but he knows Aunt May will understand.

    Wade’s mouth has dropped open. Tony’s actually face-palming, pacing across his office and making half-aborted movements that are oddly satisfying to watch. Peter hides his smirk as best he can, but from the way both men start glaring at him, he doesn’t do a very good job.

    “Oh?” Aunt May asks. “I quite like the sound of that.”

    “So I was thinking – if you’re free this weekend, maybe Sunday, we can catch up for lunch,” Peter continues, keeping his eyes on Wade as he says this. He needs Wade to realize how serious he is about this, how much he wants them to be… a _thing_. Wade’s wings twitch, feathers puffing up in a distinctly proud fashion.

    “That sounds wonderful, Peter. I look forward to meeting your… _partner_.”

    Tony makes a choking sound.

    “Love you Aunt May.”

    “I love you too, Peter.”

    Peter hangs up, regarding the two men calmly. “So they don’t have Aunt May,” he says. “That’s a good thing.”

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Wade can’t believe Peter just did that.

    {Wow.}

    [What?]

    {We’re so _in_!}

    [I don’t… Is he _serious_?]

    {Don’t question the miracle!}

    [Someone fucking needs to. Shit like this doesn’t happen to _us_.]

    {Petey _wants_ us!}

    [ _Exactly_.]

    “Wade?” Peter says, a concerned frown on his face. From his tone, Wade guesses he’s been repeating Wade’s name for a while. “Are you alright?”

    Wade stutters out something that would maybe approximates a laugh. “Just peachy, baby boy,” he replies with an exaggerated wink. “I’m glad Miss May is okay.”

    “What are we going to do about the idiots on the docks?” Tony asks.

    Wade smirks. “ _I_ have several brilliant ideas that involve kicking ass, spraying bullets, and eating tacos. Not necessarily in that order.”

    Peter’s already shaking his head. “We can get the police.”

    [What happens if they _have_ picked up someone?]

    Wade’s brow furrows. “Say _what_?”

    {They’re idiots – they could have just picked up some old lady on the street and pretended she was Miss May.}

    “But the phone?”

    He can feel White’s mental shrug. [Maybe they were supposed to get Miss May, swiped her phone instead and got another old lady. Even if Miss May _is_ safe, someone else might not be.]

    {Especially if they know Petey is Spidey!}

    Wade huffs – why can’t things just be fucking _simple_? “Stark, you should send your drones. They might have taken someone else – if they know Peter is Spidey, they’re going to know that having a hostage is better than not having one.”

    Peter’s face has gone pale. “You think…”

    “Better safe than sorry, right?”

    There’s a knock on the door, and Wade has his gun out and his wings hidden faster than Stark can react. Peter reacts almost as fast as Wade – he darts behind Wade’s back.

    Stark rolls his eyes at both of them. “We’re in _my_ Tower,” he scoffs. “Who exactly are you expecting?”

    A pretty redhead enters after a moment, her blue eyes immediately widening at the sight of him. Her wings half-flare out from their resting position against her back, dark secondaries standing out starkly against the rest of her spotless white plumage.

    {Ha! _Starkly_! Get it?}

    “Tony?” the woman – who Wade has by now identified as Pepper Potts, perhaps the only woman on the planet who willingly puts up with Tony Stark’s bullshit – says. “What is Deadpool doing in your office?”

    “Funny you should ask that,” Stark starts, voice full of bad-boy sass, but he wilts visibly when Pepper finally turns her glare to him.

    Peter’s still hiding behind Wade, and Wade feels his hands grasping loosely at the back of his suit. He slides his gun back into the holster and beams at Pepper.

    “Miss Potts!” he exclaims. “Nice to meet you, finally! But what is a beautiful crane like you doing with a fish like him? Wait, don’t tell me – is it the snark? The sass? The fabulous facial hair? Because between you and me, that face hair is _art_!”

    Pepper’s wings drop down, confusion evident on her face. “Deadpool,” she says. “I was under the impression you were permanently _banned_ from the Tower.”

    “Mmm, yes, but this is important. We need your boo’s help.”

    “We?”

    Wade hears Peter sigh. The younger man pokes his head out from behind Wade’s body and offers Pepper a timid wave. “Hey Pepper,” he says quietly.

    Wade watches the realization dawn. “ _Spiderman_?” she asks, incredulous.

    Peter winces. “Peter,” he replies. “It’s… It’s Peter.”

    “Why are you with _Deadpool_?” she demands. “He shot at you!”

    [We did.]

    {We did…}

    “But we regret it.”

    {And now we shoot at the people that are trying to shoot him!}

    [This is a story of redemption.]

    {And eventual smut!}

    [That’s not even in the fucking tags yet.]

    {But it _will_ be.}

    “He’s kinda been protecting me,” Peter says. “For… a while, actually.”

    “More than two months,” Wade adds proudly. “And I’m not getting paid for it.”

    {Should we be getting paid for this?}

    [Of course we should.]

    “Wade’s my… I trust him,” Peter finishes, and Wade’s left wondering how Peter meant to finish that first part.

    Pepper’s eyebrows rise. “You _trust_ him?”

    “Pepper,” Stark interrupts, “to be completely fair to Deadpool, he _has_ done a decent job of keeping Peter alive.” He says the words grudgingly, but it's the first time Wade has ever heard the man defend  _him_.

    Everyone in the room turns to stare at him. “You’re _defending_ him?” Pepper demands.

    “You’re defending _me_?” Wade squeals. “But you were totally just attacking me!”

    [How dare he change his tune. Now I don’t know where we stand.]

    {But we’re standing in the same place as before?}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, new chapter. You can all breathe a sigh of relief - May is safe! And now Pepper knows Spiderman's secret identity.
> 
> I will be honest with you all - I'm writing blind rn. I planned up to _maybe_ the next two chapters? And then I can either end it with a lot of fluff and smut, or I can plot some more and maybe give the Avengers some more character development shit and some action.
> 
> So. Vote for option 1 or 2 in the comments, please and thank you! (Voting will end when the next chapter goes up, which will probably be in about 10 days.)
> 
> (I would like to point out that the fluff and smut will happen in either option, it'll just be the focus in Option 1. Option 2 will be more plot/character development driven with snippets of fluff and smut)


	16. Chapter 16

    Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose. “Would someone please explain to me what is going on?”

    Peter swallows. “Um,” he starts. “I – well, I thought I got a call from my aunt while Wade and I – er, the call came from her mobile, but it wasn’t her. We think it was the guys who – um…”

    Tony comes to his rescue. “Pepper, I promise, I will fill you in on all the necessary details later, but right now we’re on a _very_ tight schedule and we need to come up with a plan.”

    “Right,” Peter agrees, perhaps a little too eagerly if the glare Pepper sends him is anything to go by. Her wings have risen again, half-threatening. Peter wonders how Wade’s holding back from flaunting his, because from what he’s read and observed, threatening someone generally garners a rather immediate response.

    “Aw, c’mon,” Wade says. “Let Not So Pretty in Pink here join in the fun!”

    Peter turns to glare at him. “Are you _trying_ to make this worse?” he demands.

    Wade shakes his head, tutting. “Red and pink should _never_ be worn together, baby boy. Even you should know that.”

    “That wasn’t what I meant, although thank you for clarifying,” Peter replies. “I mean, no offense to Pepper, but there’s not much she can _do_ in this situation. Is there?”

    “I can offer an unbiased opinion on whatever plan you come up with,” Pepper says, although she’s still holding her threatening pose.

    Tony cocks an eyebrow at that. “Pepper, you may want to check yourself on that,” he says, a hint of amusement colouring his voice. “You’re looking _very_ biased.”

    Pepper glares at him. “That man is a _mercenary_ ,” she snaps. “He’s not to be trusted.”

    Wade holds up his hands. “Hey, if you want me to go, I will. But Petey-pie is coming with me. I promised to keep him safe.”

    “The Tower –” Pepper begins, but Wade snorts.

    “Please. No offense, Stark, but I could break in here with a coat hanger and grater,” he says. “I’ve done it before.”

    Peter’s trying to process that, even as Tony starts spluttering indignantly at the mercenary. He’s entirely sure he’s never heard anything more ridiculous.

    “A _coat hanger_ and a _grater_?” he repeats. “I don’t – _how_?”

    Wade grins at him. “That would be telling, baby boy.” He reaches over to ruffle Peter’s already messy hair.

    Peter’s not exactly sure what happens. Between one breath and the next, he’s yanked away from the mercenary. There are feathers in his face, and it takes a moment to process that they are decidedly _not_ Wade’s feathers. Almost immediately, he feels his heart rate rocket, even though logically he knows the feathers belong to Pepper.

    “Sir,” Jarvis says, a tad frantically. “Mr Parker appears to be having a panic attack.”

    “What did you do?” Tony shouts. Peter’s only half listening, curled into a ball. He presses his face against the floor, wildly hoping that he can ground himself, calm himself down.

    Someone says something, but Peter can’t hear them. He breathes – in, out, in, out. Tries to keep it even, but the panic is only rising. He needs… He needs an anchor. He needs something to keep him here, something to keep him from being swept away by the memories…

    _Wade._ He needs Wade.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Wade’s not sure what happened, but he doesn’t like it. Pepper has her wings in full threat display, feathers flared as she stands protectively in front of Peter. Peter, who’s fallen to the floor like someone punched him. Wade watches as he presses his face against the ground, eyes glassy.

    [{Panic attack,}] the boxes chorus.

    “What did you do?” Stark demands.

    “Nothing!” Wade shouts back.

    Stark shakes his head. “Not you, Deadpool. Pepper!”

    [Hold the fucking phone.]

    {I’m confused!}

    “I think we all are, Yellow,” Wade mutters, watching Pepper drop her wings.

    “He can’t be trusted,” she repeats, but she’s frowning. As though she doesn’t quite understand why she reacted the way she did.

    [Oh no.]

    {??????} Yellow manages to successfully convey his confusion wordlessly.

    [It’s – they’ve – fuck. It’s not just Aunt May we have to impress.]

    Wade’s mouth drops open. “What the frick frack paddy whack?” he demands. “When did _you_ adopt Peter?”

    Pepper stares at him. “I – I didn’t,” she replies. “At least, not _consciously_ …” She trails off uncertainly.

    Stark is massaging his temples. “Pepper, you _adopted_ Peter? Without telling me?”

    The two of them continue talking, but Wade stops paying attention. It doesn’t concern him as anything more than another hurdle he has to jump to be with Peter, and he’s already made up his mind that he will jump as many fucking times as needed.

    Peter’s still on the ground, but Wade can’t approach without setting Pepper off again. He’s trying to figure out a way to get them both away from Peter when his baby boy blinks and looks desperately around the room.

    “Wade,” Peter whispers. The relief when Peter’s eyes land on Wade is startling – Wade blinks stupidly at him before taking a cautious step forward.

    Pepper’s instantly on alert, breaking off the conversation to glare at Wade. Her wings rise to half-mast again.

    “Wade,” Peter repeats, desperation clear in his voice. Pepper’s protective stance falters, and Wade decides he’s had enough.

    He steps boldly forward, releasing his wings in the same movement. His wings make a dry rustling sound as they flare, wider than Pepper’s by a good margin and infinitely more threatening. Pepper’s eyes go wide, her wings ruffling defensively. Wade takes another step, shaking his wings, raising them higher, stretching them wider.

    “Pepper,” Stark says, his tone tense. “Peter needs him right now.”

    [A sentence I never thought I’d hear anyone ever say in a situation like this.]

    {Let us get to Petey!} Yellow screeches.

    Pepper blinks, looks at him again. She’s assessing, not quite backing down just yet. Wade’s impressed – the mere size of his wings usually sends people screaming. Or pissing their pants. But Wade supposes that if Pepper has the guts to hang around Tony Stark, a pair of wings aren’t going to perturb her much.

    “Wade,” Peter says, voice cracking.

    Pepper steps aside.

    Wade’s on his knees in a second, hands gentle as he picks Peter up off the floor. His wings rest against his back. “Hey baby boy,” he croons, running his fingers through that messy hair. “You alright, Petey?”

    Peter blinks. “Wade,” he says again, and the relief in his voice almost knocks Wade back.

    “You bet your sweet cheeks! And I do mean all of them.”

    [The face cheeks.]

    {The butt cheeks.}

    “That cheek of yours. But enough about cheeks. What were you thinking, telling Miss May we’d all have dinner together? I can’t show up! I’ll end up terrifying your Aunt!”

    Peter smiles, the expression crawling across his face agonizingly slow. “She’s unflappable,” he mumbles, pressing his face into Wade’s shoulder. “I want her to meet you, and I want you to meet her,” he adds.

    Wade grumbles. “Little bit of warning would have been nice, buttercup. This,” he gestures to himself with a free hand, “is a lot to take in.”

    Peter doesn’t reply, nuzzling closer to Wade. He smells nice, Wade notes absently. There’s something wholesome about his scent that makes Wade feel more alive than he has for years. Wade plays with Peter’s hair, wishing he could feel the soft strands on his skin but not daring to take off his gloves in front of Pepper and Stark.

    [… I think he’s fallen asleep?]

    {Say what?}

    Wade checks, and discovers that White is correct. Peter’s breathing deeply, limbs soft and loose as Wade carefully picks him up.

    “We need to plan,” he says to the other two. “And I’m not waking Petey up, so you’d best tell me where I can leave him to rest _and_ keep an eye on him at the same time, or I’m busting out of this Tower and taking him home.”

    It’s funny – until now he’s never really had a home. Peter’s his home now. The warm form cuddling against his chest… He’ll die a thousand times over if it means keeping him safe.

    Stark nods. “Follow me,” he says, leading the way out of the room.

    Pepper follows after him, and the knowledge that he has his back to her makes his wings twitch. He considers hiding them again, but ultimately decides that there’s little point. He shifts Peter a little, making a soft, soothing sound when the younger man in his arms grumbles.

    The elevator takes them up several more floors, and when they step out, Stark gestures for Wade to put Peter down on the most fabulous couch Wade has ever seen. He puts Peter down happily, a smile crossing his face when the sleeping hero grabs at him before snuggling into the pillows.

    “So,” Wade says, bouncing back over to Pepper and Stark. “How are we doing this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voting is OVER! 
> 
> Thank you everyone :D Option 2 won by a landslide, so expect many more chapters ;)
> 
> On a related note, I'm going to be very busy over the next few weeks (I've been gifted with the opportunity every writer dreams of!) so chapter updates will be a lot slower while I work on that!
> 
> (I've also started ANOTHER fic (not Spideypool for once), but I won't be posting that until one of the four I have going at the moment are done)
> 
> As always, comment what you think! Hope you like it :D


	17. Chapter 17

    “Hey, Spidey!” Wade shouts, responding to the rapid gunfire with what Peter suspects is a grenade. His suspicions are confirmed when the black thing Wade throws – with what looks like the Deadpool mask painted on it – at the enemies explodes. He winces, webbing up one of the luckier men.

    “Yes, Deadpool?” Peter replies, executing a neat backflip as another man attacks him with a knife. He moves on instinct, webs snatching the knife from the man’s hand as he plants himself on one hand and kicks the unarmed man square in the chest, automatically dialling back on his strength so that the man is simply winded and doesn’t end up with multiple broken ribs.

    “I think you have a fan club,” the mercenary sings, unsheathing his katanas and charging into the fray with a very impressive war cry.

    Tony lands next to Peter, face-plate flipping up to reveal his very disgruntled expression. “This was a horrible plan,” he says.

    Peter tilts his head, tossing the knife he’s acquired away. “I thought this was partly your idea,” he points out. “Deadpool didn’t come up with this by himself… Right?”

    “No! Of course not – it’s _this_ particular part of the plan that’s horrible. And this _is_ the part Deadpool came up with.”

    “Why am I not surprised?” Peter sighs. Of _course_ Wade would be responsible for the fighting part of any plan. Peter doubts the man can come up with a plan that doesn’t involve fighting, _especially_ not if the plan involves protecting Peter.

    The two break apart as another few enemies rush them. Tony takes on three men, bullets ricocheting off his suit as the face-plate snaps back down. Peter can’t really focus on Tony’s fight – he’s left with the remaining four, and he has his hands full. The first man rushes him with a knife.

    “Watch the suit, watch the suit!” Peter shouts, sliding deftly between one of his opponent’s legs and punching him in the balls. The guy goes down like a tonne of bricks, and if Peter was feeling at all charitable he would have winced in sympathy.

    As it stands, he’s not feeling very charitable at all.

    Peter uses the next man as a sort of living climbing frame, using his shoulders as a balancing platform for his hands and kicking the third man in the shoulder. The resounding crack makes him flinch a little – he meant to hold back better than that. The man he’s balancing on goes down in a move Peter’s learnt from watching Natasha, back hitting the ground and knocking the wind from his lungs.

    Peter webs him to the ground before he can blink, and then it’s the last man’s turn. They have a brief stare off, and Peter hopes the guy runs. But whatever he’s being paid, it’s enough to overcome the fact he’s just watched three of his friends get taken down in less than a minute.

    Peter dodges the first knife swing, spider sense skittering up his spine a moment later. He jerks left, a bullet flying past his head, and then drops instinctively. His leg lashes out and kicks his opponent’s out from under him. Somehow, the guy is up a moment later, eyes narrowed and wings erupting from his skin, flaring wide.

    The wings are big and black – crow. Peter barely flinches at the sight – he has his mask on, he’s not Peter Parker right now. He’s Spiderman. And Spiderman has _never_ been afraid of the winged.

    Peter darts backwards, climbing the wall and taking a second to look out at the warehouse. Wade’s busy dancing around, talking a mile a minute as his sword slashes through the air, leaving a trail of groaning bodies in his wake. Peter feels a flash of heat in his gut – damn, the mercenary is going to be the death of him – and looks away to find Tony.

    Tony’s currently hovering, shouting at Wade. Apparently, the fact that he’s staying still for more than two seconds gives the guys the three of them are fighting every excuse to fire at him.

    The ones that are left, anyway. They’re doing next to no damage – Tony must have upgraded his suit again.

    Peter shifts his attention back to the crow, just in time to see him jumping into the air, wings propelling him towards Peter at a speed that would terrify him if he was Peter Parker. But he’s not, and a grin splits his face under the mask as he releases his hold on the wall and falls.

    The crow squawks in surprise, trying to alter his course. But wings mean he’s less agile than Peter, who relies on his webs and his reflexes to stop him before he hits the ground. A web catches onto the ceiling, and Peter swings away from the crow, jumping off the web to land on the opposite wall.

    The crow manages to stop before he flies into the wall, and turns to swoop across the warehouse towards Peter again. The crow is at a disadvantage – the space is too enclosed to fly properly, and after a few minutes where Peter and the crow play a very enjoyable (for Peter) game of tag, the crow stops and drops to the floor.

    “Aw, come on,” Peter says, perched on a pile of crates. “I was having fun.”

    “Fucking _pest_ ,” the crow hisses, pulling a gun from his pocket.

    “Now why didn’t you just use that from the beginning?” Peter wonders, and then has to stop talking because he’s focusing on dodging the bullets that fly towards him. After all the troubles he’s had with guns, dodging bullets almost feels _easy_.

    Until the last bullet grazes his shoulder, and Peter lets out a surprised hiss of pain. Somehow, _somehow_ , Wade hears him, and is by his side in less than a second.

    “Alright?” he asks quietly, fingers gentle as they pull the suit away from the wound.

    “Fine,” Peter huffs, glaring at the crow. “Just a graze.”

    The crow laughs. “Wouldn’t have picked Spiderman to be wingless!” he calls mockingly, wings arching in a flaunting display.

    Peter tilts his head, brushing Wade’s concerned noise away. “What makes you think I’m wingless?”

    The crow points to Tony, still hovering in mid-air. “Tony Stark’s wingless. Deadpool’s wingless. We never see your wings, Spiderman. Hanging out with company like this… I’m not an idiot.”

    “And what’s wrong with being wingless?” Peter demands.

    “You can’t fucking fly,” the crow spits. “ _I’m_ better than you do-gooders.”

    Peter pushes up his mask, revealing his sharp grin. “I out-flew _you_ ,” he points out. “Almost made you fly into the wall.”

    Wade jumps down, knife spinning around his fingers in a deadly, hypnotic dance. “Filth like you,” he snarls, any previous playfulness vanishing as though it had never been there, “don’t get to compare themselves to people like Spiderman. Wingless or not, he’s a thousand times the man you’ll _ever_ be.”

    “Here we go,” Tony mutters, sounding put out.

    “Besides,” Wade continues, stalking towards the smirking crow, “you’re wrong about something else, too.”

    “Oh yeah?” the crow challenges, wings flaring wider in a clear threat display.

    “Yeah,” Wade says, and his wings burst free from his back.

    Easily four feet longer than the crow’s, Wade’s wings stretch up and out, feathers bristling in an aggressive display that very clearly tells the crow Wade’s not afraid to rip him apart. Peter can’t see the crow, his view blocked by the expanse of Wade’s wings, but he can guess what’s going on.

    Peter drops down to the floor, hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder. The crow is on the floor, cowering beneath Wade’s shadow. The fear on his face speaks to some primal part of Peter’s brain – he’s inexplicably proud of that fear, proud that _his_ mate ( _not mates, not yet_ , he reminds himself quickly) can illicit such a reaction from a threat.

    “F-fuck,” the crow says, his voice shaking.

    “Fuck,” Wade agrees, and the crow screams when Wade’s knife finds a new home in the crow’s shoulder.

    Tony makes a noise of disgust. “You had to?” he demands, landing behind the mercenary.

    Wade shrugs, entirely unconcerned with the whimpering noises spilling from the crow curled at his feet. “He hurt Spiderman,” he replies.

    Heat pools in Peter’s stomach, and he takes a steadying breath. “We need to find Greaves and Argus,” he says, trying to sound calm.

    Someone laughs. “Good luck!”

    The warehouse fills with smoke, and Peter automatically jumps away, pulling himself up to the ceiling and looking around frantically. Tony is hovering above the ground, his faceplate filtering the smoke out. Peter can’t see Wade.

    “Deadpool!” he calls, staring into the smoke. He can’t see him, can’t hear him – the man never shuts up! Where is he, where is he, _where is he_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm am _so_ sorry about how long it's taken me to update, I honestly started with one reason and they just kept piling up. Ugh.
> 
> So what do you think? Worth the wait? I've already started the next chapter, shouldn't take anywhere near as long as this one!
> 
> Now, for those of you who follow me on Tumblr, I've been posting up an update every few days. I also asked a question. Since a lot of you _don't_ follow me, I'll ask it here too: Should Daredevil have wings? Yay or nay?


	18. Chapter 18

    Gas. Gas is probably bad.

    “Deadpool?” he hears Peter call, sounding frantic. Wade smiles, staggering through the smoke in a determined sort of way. It’s nice, really, having someone care about him. Not that he’s expecting Peter to keep caring about him when the day is over, because he _can’t_ leave these people alive. Not if he’s serious about keeping Peter safe.

    He knows the gas will kill him – he can already feel the cool touch of Death on his skin. Her fingers are unerringly gentle, just like he remembers. Her voice hasn’t filtered through yet, so he still has time.

    Time he intends to use in a distinctly bloody manner.

    He knows the direction the canister came from, and that’s where he’s headed. His wings feel heavy and useless on his back, and for a moment something that almost feels like a _plan_ touches his thoughts.

    [We don’t _plan_ ,] White snaps.

    {Maybe this time we should – we’re going to die soon!} Yellow says cheerfully.

    White grumbles. [We don’t _plan_ ,] he repeats.

    {Well, I’m not okay with dying and something happening to Peter,} Yellow says, voice abruptly hard and angry. Wade doesn’t think he’s ever heard the box so serious. {So how about you suck it up, princess?}

    Wade pauses, and the _plan_ sticks, cementing in his mind even as White grumbles in the background. Wings, heavy. But _not_ useless.

    The gas may have slowed him down, but if he can clear the area he has a fighting chance of kicking some serious ass. And he does so like kicking ass, _especially_ when they deserve it. And these two _definitely_ deserve it.

    His wings spread wide, and he starts flapping them, pushing the gas away from his body and welcoming the cool, clean air that rushes to fill the space around him. Death’s touch is gone in a moment, and for once he doesn’t feel sad about it. He has Peter. Potentially not for much longer, but for now…

    He sucks in a breath, sparing a moment to glance around for Peter – there, up on the ceiling. Wade can feel his worry through the mask, and makes sure to give the younger man a cocky salute before turning to face his new opponents.

    “Well, well,” he says, smirking. “If it isn’t _exactly_ who I was hoping to run into!”

    [You’re dead,] White adds.

    {In, like, seven different ways.}

    The older of the two sneers. “You were paid good money to get rid of Peter Parker,” he says. His brown wings are flared, like he thinks he has a chance to beat Wade. It's honestly hilarious, and Wade lets his wings half-arch lazily, the equivalent of saying he doesn't see the older man as a threat.

    “Simple fucking job,” the younger agrees. His wings stay pressed against his back, eyes flicking between the older man's fully flared wings and Wade's half-arched. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, and the older guy's wings jerk towards him. Huh.

    Wade can’t remember their names, and frankly, he doesn’t care. He only needs their names to find them – and since they’re in front of him, their names are useless bits of information. It’s the older one who’s holding the poisonous smoke throwing contraption, and so Wade focuses his attention on him. If Peter breathes in the gas, he’ll die faster than Wade can kill these two.

    “Sorry, fellas,” Wade says cheerfully. His katanas are back in his hands, twirling lazily through the air. Sure, he could use his guns, but he feels like using his babies to take care of these two. An honour, really. One they don’t particularly deserve. “But Peter Parker is just too pretty to die! Plus, Spidey would _kill_ me if I killed Peter, so you know. Bros before dicks, right?”

    [That’s not how that saying goes.]

    {We made it work!}

    “Although speaking of simple fucking jobs,” Wade continues, grinning, “I hear you two are _the_ worst criminals this side of the universe!”

    “Asshole!” the younger guy snarls, and Wade feels the familiar sting of bullets singing through his skin.

    “Tut tut,” Wade says, shaking finger at the guy. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with the grown-up’s toys?”

    “The fuck?” the younger guy gasps, staring at Wade in horror.

    [It’s like he has no idea who we are.]

    “Sticks and stone can, and often do, break my bones,” Wade sings, skipping forward, switching targets. “But fuck your shit I’m Deadpool.”

    The younger guy doesn’t respond, because he’s turned into something of a shish kebab. Wade’s impaled him, katana ripping through his skin and the fake leather jacket he probably thought looked bad ass. The guy gasps on a word, a name, blood spilling from his mouth. Wade very carelessly pushes him off his sword, wiping the blood off on the dying man’s jacket.

    Peter hasn’t said anything. Wade hopes he won’t, because this isn’t his best angle and he’s too fucking angry to think beyond the fact that these two were responsible for Peter’s nightmares, Peter’s fears, Peter’s scars. He’s too angry to think beyond the fact that they need to pay, that he needs to make them pay.

    “Nathan!” the older man shouts, throwing his weapon away and racing to the younger guy’s side. Wade pauses, watching. The older man carefully pulls the corpse into his lap, whispering words into deaf ears.

    “You seem a little suicidal,” he says eventually. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it makes it easier. But I totally had you pegged for the running type. Sometimes the chase is good too."

    The older man looks up at him, and Wade is thrown by the utter devastation in his eyes. “He was my _mate_ ,” the man says, voice cutting and broken.

    [{ _Good_ ,}] the boxes say viciously.

    Wade hums. “Well, wanna go with him? I can definitely arrange that.” He flicks his katana up, so the point rests against the man’s throat.

    “You took him from me,” the man breathes. “I’ll kill you.”

    Wade moves, backhanding him, sends him sprawling away from the body of his mate. “Better men than you have tried,” he says, tone uninterested and at odds with the way his mouth is twisted into a snarl beneath his mask. “I mean, come on! What have crows ever done to you? They shit in your cereal or something?”

    “Crows are all that is wrong with this world,” the man snarls. “They need to be eradicated.”

    “The only thing that needs to be eradicated in this world, buddy, are people like _you_ ,” Wade hisses. “People who think it’s fucking _okay_ to pinion a twelve-year old. People who get so damn drunk they can’t fucking tell brown from black.”

    “I didn’t do anything,” the man snaps back. “I didn’t wield the knife.”

    “But you certainly didn’t fucking stop them, did you? You and your mate stood by and _let_ it happen. You fucking _encouraged_ it, and that, in my books, makes you _worse_ than those two who _did_ cut off his wings.” Wade’s vision is going red. He takes a breath, trying to control himself. “And now, you’ve been hired by one of their relative. Oh!” Wade grins at the baffled expression on the man’s face. “You didn’t _know_.”

    [They didn’t know about you,] White points out. [He doesn't seem to know that Peter Parker and Spiderman are one and the same. I think it's on purpose.]

    {The guy who hired them  _wanted_ these two to die.}

    “Well,” Wade says. “Who am I to turn down presents when they’re hand delivered?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shorter than I intended, but you get all Deadpool. What's not to love?
> 
> For those of you not following me on Tumblr, I'm thinking Daredevil will be showing up in chapter 20 ( _possibly_ chapter 19).
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

    Wade’s just about to chop off the older man’s head – Roger, his name is _Roger_ – when Peter decides he can’t.

    “Wade!” he calls, dropping down to the ground. The mercenary freezes, sharp edge of the katana mere inches away from Roger’s neck. Peter shivers – he was almost too late. The worst part is that he doesn’t think he’d be sorry for being too late.

    “Do _not_ ask me not to kill him,” Wade says, voice hard and dark.

    Peter hesitates, concerned, but eventually he makes his way to Wade’s side. He places a hand on Wade’s should, feels the muscles trembling beneath his fingers. “I – can I ask him something?”

    Wade somehow manages to get even tenser. His wings curl around Peter, warm and dark. “Why would you want to talk with shit like _this_?” he demands.

    Roger is glaring at Peter, at Wade, eyes refusing to stray towards the body of his mate. There’s something desperate about him, something that makes Peter feel… Conflicted. Earlier, he would have let Wade kill him like Wade killed his mate, but now…

    “Why’d you do it?” Peter asks quietly. “Why’d you goad them?”

    “I don’t owe you _answers_ ,” Roger spits.

    Only, he sort of does. Tony lands behind him, muttering something about watching the exits, and leaves. Peter lifts a hand up to his mask.

    “ _Spidey_ ,” Wade hisses.

    “If you’re going to end up killing him either way,” Peter mutters back, “I can at least get my answers.” He pulls his mask off, blinking calmly down at the man. “Why did you goad them?” he asks again, each word sharp and distinct. He ignores the way Roger’s eyes bug out of his head at the sight of his face.

    “It’s _you_ ,” he says, soft and horrified. His eyes dart over to his mate’s body, and then back to Peter’s face. “So this is how you get your payback?” he demands, fury shining in his face. “By getting your freak of a mate to kill me and mine.” He spits at Peter’s face, but it lands near his feet.

    Peter tilts his head. “Payback?” he asks, puzzled. Oddly enough, he realizes he’s never really wanted payback. The only way he’ll truly get it is if he cut off their wings, and Peter will _never_ do that to someone. He knows all too well the horror such an action would bring, and he’s not about to give that burden to someone else.

    Even if they sort of deserve it.

    “I don’t want payback,” he says. “I never have.”

    “You should,” Wade mutters, shifting at Peter’s side. Peter marvels at how the mercenary is so willing to stay with him, so willing to kill for him.

    On one level, it’s a little disturbing. Wade, _Deadpool_ , is a force of nature. Peter’s not entirely sure if he can handle the responsibility that will come with mating with Wade, now that he’s thinking about.

    On the other hand, his instincts like it. Buried though they may be, Peter’s pretty sure they’re the reason he hasn’t had an adverse reaction to how Wade is handling things. He knows logically that Wade’s doing this _for_ him, and his instincts seem to draw on that logic and build, until Peter’s a little worried that he’ll happily sit back and let Wade continue on his murderous path.

    He’s not sure how he’s going to come out of this as the same person who went in, and he’s also not entirely sure that the change will be bad.

    “But I don’t,” Peter says, laying a hand on Wade’s still shaking arm.

    Roger snarls, his face twisting, disbelief clear in his face. “Then what do you _want_?” he asks.

    Peter gives the man a gentle smile. “I just want the nightmares to stop,” he replies softly. “I think they will, when you’re dead.” He rolls his shoulders, biting his lip. “In fact, I’m almost certain it will. But I don’t like killing. It’s not the way I was taught to deal with things.”

    “It’s the way I was,” Wade grumbles. Peter runs his hand over the trembling muscles, ignoring the feeling of the scars and scabs beneath the suit.

    “But you haven’t answered me,” Peter says, crouching down so that he’s at eye-level with Roger. “Why did you do it? I was a child – what could I have done to deserve that kind of treatment? It shouldn’t have mattered what colour my wings were. I was _twelve-years old_.”

    “Piles of shit like this don’t need a reason, baby boy,” Wade says. “They just like hurting people.”

    Roger sneers at Wade. “Like you’re any different?”

    Peter stretches out his hand and slaps Roger on the cheek. It’s not a hard blow, more of one that’s meant to get someone’s attention. It works, because Roger turns and glares at him.

    Wade’s gone silent, and that’s rarely a good sign. Peter hopes he’s not taking Roger’s words seriously, because in Peter’s eyes the two of them couldn’t be more different. Wade’s not a monster, but to little Peter Parker, Roger was.

    “You don’t get to talk to him like that,” Peter says firmly. “Not when he’s the one who saved my life, and _you’re_ the one that almost ended it.”

    “He’s a killer,” Roger tells him, as though Peter’s somehow missed the last few months he’s known Wade.

    Peter raises an eyebrow. “He is,” he agrees calmly. “But he’s never intentionally mutilated a child. And I don’t imagine he’s ever stood by and watched it happen, either.”

    “You don’t do that kind of shit to kids,” Wade hisses. “Besides, I’ve never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

    Peter hums. That’s potentially debatable, because Wade’s ‘they deserved it’ is very different from Peter’s. And probably everyone else’s, to be honest. But Peter’s sure that there would be people in the world who agree with Wade’s brand of justice, and Peter doesn’t necessarily think Wade’s _completely_ wrong. Maybe a little hard-handed, sure, but there’s no denying that Wade’s methods _work_.

    “This is your last chance,” Peter says, voice soft. “Why would you _encourage_ them to do that? How would you feel, if it was your kid who was bleeding out, who lost their wings because someone decided that the colour of their wings personally offended them?”

    Roger’s face splits into a tired smile, and Peter’s stomach drops. He’s certain he’s not going to like the answer that comes from the man’s mouth.

    “I’d feel relieved,” Roger replies.

    Peter’s fast, but Wade’s faster. Before Peter can get a punch in that would probably break Roger’s jaw, Wade’s already stabbed him through the shoulder. Roger shouts in pain when Wade twists his katana.

    “What kind of sick fuck would feel relieved that their kid’s wings get cut off?” Wade snarls.

    Peter’s already figured it out, and his heart _aches_. “You,” he starts, but words fail him and he pushes himself to his feet, walking away before he can do something he’ll regret. “Don’t kill him,” he says to Wade, before he steps out to find Tony, pulling on his mask as he goes.

    Tony’s perched on the roof, helmet flipped up. Somehow, at some point, Tony found the time to go grab a snack, because he’s licking donut frosting from his fingers when Peter crawls up to him.

    “Everything okay?” Tony asks, worried. Peter wonders what his face looks like. “Your mercenary finished down there?”

    Normally, Peter thinks he would blush and stammer that Wade’s not _his_ mercenary, but his mind is kind of full of other things. “Can you see if Roger had kids?” Peter asks. There must really be something wrong with his voice, because Tony doesn’t ask questions and just does it.

    “He does,” Tony confirms a moment later. “The kid’s eleven this year.” He whistles. “Talk about an early bloomer – his wings settled when he was three.”

    “What did they settle as?” Peter asks, the sinking feeling in his gut only getting worse.

    It takes Tony a brief, tense second to respond. “His kid's a crow,” he says, and that’s all Peter needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah this chapter almost took me a month! I'm so sorry!
> 
> Next chapter I'm anticipating some Daredevil, who's excited?
> 
> Hope you liked this latest chapter, again, I'm sorry it took so long. I'll try and not be as long with the next one, I promise!


	20. Chapter 20

    [He asked us not to kill him,] White says.

    {He didn’t say we couldn’t _hurt_ him,} Yellow replies, sounding viciously pleased when Wade sinks one of his knives – hey, he has like fifty – into the asshole pinned to the floor beneath him.

    “Loopholes,” Wade says, twisting the knife just so. Asshole makes a high noise of pain, panic in his dishwater grey eyes. His wings twitch where Wade’s pinned them with two more knives. “I’m fucking great at loopholes. And you deserve every bit of this, ass-clown.”

    [He’s not going to be happy,] White points out.

    Yellow pouts. Wade’s not sure how the box manages it, but he does. {Until he comes back, we’re good. Do we have any blunt knives?}

    Wade’s not entirely sure what sent Peter off in a hurry, but he’s got a feeling it wasn’t good. Nothing seems to be good with this asshole, so Wade takes Yellow’s advice and finds a particularly blunt knife to use on the crying asshole.

    Peter comes back just as Wade’s finishing with the blunt knife, and Wade can’t hide it fast enough. But there’s a fractured, broken look on Peter’s face when he tears off his mask, and he doesn’t seem to see the knife.

    “You,” he says, voice low, “are the most disgusting excuse for a human being I have ever had the misfortune of meeting.”

    Wade blinks – he’s never heard the hero so venomous, never heard him so furious. “Spidey?” he asks, but Peter’s focused on the man beneath him.

    “You know how this is going to end?” Peter demands, advancing another step forward. “You are going away for a _long_ time. I’ll make sure you never see the outside of a cell again, and your son? He’s going to be taken in by someone who doesn’t give a fuck about the colour of his wings. He’s going to get looked after and whoever takes him in is going to give him every opportunity they can. He’s going to be more than his father.”

    The asshole beneath Wade gives a wet chuckle. “Good luck with that,” he says with a sneer.

    [I’m feeling very ignored here.]

    {We all are. Can we get an explanation, or is that too much to ask?}

    Wade’s about to ask, but Peter starts talking again. He shuts his mouth to listen.

    “Tony’s already called the police,” he says. “They’re on their way here. Deadpool and I are going to leave you here for them. Tony will stay to make sure you don’t get away. Deadpool and I have somewhere very important to go. Someone very important to meet.”

    _That_ seems to hit a nerve. “You leave him alone!” Asshole snarls. “He’s _my_ son.”

    “He’s not your property,” Peter says coldly, and Wade’s really thrown by this furious-cold-snarly-fucking- _hot_ version of Peter. He’s actually feeling pretty sorry for the asshole.

    (Wade’s definitely kidding.)

    “He killed my _wife_ ,” Asshole hisses, and Wade feels the strong urge to punch him. So he does.

    And Peter just watches.

    [This is _so_ not good,] White mutters.

    {Even I’m agreeing. Shit, what did this guy _do_?}

    Peter waits until the asshole is glaring at him again before speaking. “Your wife,” he says slowly, “died during childbirth. There were several reasons why, including the fact that she’d _somehow_ fallen down the stairs just before she came in.”

    {Oh no he didn’t!} Yellow screeches.

    [We should have used the blunt knife for longer,] White snarls.

    “You blamed your son for _years_ ,” Peter continues, “and when his wings settled, you took it as a sign that you were somehow _entitled_ to blaming him. You went out with your new _mate_ and got drunk.”

    “Shut up,” Asshole says, eyes wide.

    Peter doesn’t. “You went out, and you got drunk,” he says, brown eyes flashing. “And you stumbled out onto the street and you saw a little boy with dark wings and every bit of hatred and fury you had towards your son… You pushed it on that little boy. You pushed it all on _me_.”

    Wade, and his boxes, are speechless. In the distance, he hears police sirens, but in the warehouse, everything is quiet.

    “You wanted him ruined,” Peter says. “You wanted him to suffer. Well, buddy, joke’s on you. I asked Tony to call the cops.” Wade whips his head around – he _what_? “We’ve got all the evidence we need to have you put away for a long, long time. And your son, your _eleven year old_ son, he’ll be free of you.”

    “He’s _my_ son,” Asshole snarls, teeth red with blood.

    “He’s not your anything anymore,” Peter says coolly. “You lost any right to call him your son. He’s going to be everything you never wanted him to be. We’re going to make sure of it.”

    Peter grabs Wade’s arm and pulls him off the asshole, giving him a disdainful look before pulling on his mask. Wade pulls his knife from the man, and Peter webs his feet to the ground.

    “Enjoy your prison time,” Peter says, and then he picks up Wade – like he weighs _nothing_ – and walks out of the warehouse. He webs them both to the rooftops, and they watch in silence as the asshole is cuffed and led away.

    Wade, predictably, breaks the silence. “That was brutal,” he says. “You sure I can’t kill him?”

    Peter shakes his head. “He’ll rot,” he mutters.

    “What’s going to happen with the kid?” Wade asks, because Peter said he’d be okay but from what Wade’s heard, foster families aren’t always that great.

    “Pepper and Tony have been looking to adopt,” Peter replies. “He agreed to show Pepper the kid’s file. She won’t care that he’s a crow.”

    Wade’s impressed that Peter managed to stay clear headed enough to think through everything. Even now, Peter’s hands are shaking, trembling with whatever emotion he’s currently dealing with. Wade’s wings rustle on his back, and he sidles closer to Peter.

    “Come home with me,” he says softly, nuzzling against Peter’s neck. The smaller man relaxes, tense shoulders dropping and a sigh falling from his lips. Encouraged, Wade spreads his wings, curling them forward to brush along Peter’s arms. Peter leans back into him, head resting against Wade’s shoulder.

    “Yeah,” Peter murmurs. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

  

    They end up cuddling, limbs entwined beneath a cocoon of blankets. They'd both started out tense, hard lines pressed against one another. He's not sure who relaxed first, not sure if it was a gradual thing or even if they relaxed together, muscles loosening in tandem. Regardless, the nest is soon filled with an easy peace.

    Wade shifts his wings a little, and Peter starts to groom the wing within reach almost absently. Wade tries to hold still while the other man works, but it feels so  _good_ and it's been... He has no idea how long it's been since someone groomed him, but it's been a long time.

    Wade is aware of the knife within easy reach, hidden in the blankets, but he’s mostly paying attention to the hero curled up in his lap, grooming his feathers. Peter’s head is against Wade’s chest, his ear pressed over Wade’s heart, and Wade couldn’t hide the way his heart-rate picks up whenever Peter moves if he tried. He finds he doesn't want to.

    Wade has his face pressed into Peter’s hair. He’d been worried, of course, the first time the mask came off, but Peter seems to prefer his face bare.

    [Don’t know why.]

    {We _ugly_!}

    [Amen. We would scare the monsters under the bed with our face.]

    But Wade wouldn’t deny his little spider anything, even if he sort of thinks the younger man in as crazy as people say Wade is. Plus, Peter’s hair feels nice against his scars. It’s soft and fluffy, like a kitten’s fur. Wade nuzzles into it, breathing in Peter’s scent.

    “I like this,” Peter whispers, breaking the mutual silence they found themselves in.

    Wade hums. “Me too, baby boy.”

    Peter shifts, moving so that they’re face to face. Wade watches Peter’s eyes, and can’t help but feel relieved when the expected revulsion remains absent. “Is it finished?” he asks. “Is it over?”

    Wade desperately wants to say yes. He knows it’s the answer Peter wants – hell, it’s the answer _Wade_ wants. If he says yes, he and Peter can really start the relationship they both want (which is an odd thing to think - Wade never imagined anyone _wanting_ him. Then again, he's never imagined  _Peter_ ).

    [We can’t lie to him though.]

    {There are still people out there who want Peter dead. And they know he’s Spiderman.}

    Wade strokes a thumb down Peter’s throat, making the younger man shiver. “I want to say yes, but I’m not going to lie to you,” he says quietly. “Whoever sent these assholes after you knows who you are. And they want you dead.”

    Peter sighs, a frown on his face. “I know,” he mutters. “We’re going to have to go to Hell’s Kitchen, aren’t we?”

    {I don’t _wanna_!} Yellow whines.

    [Can’t it wait?] White grumbles.

    “Shut up,” Wade tells them. “We gotta clear this up. And then we can have snuggles.” He glances at Peter. “Right?”

    Peter smiles, stretching up to press a sweet, innocent kiss to Wade’s scarred cheek. “Right,” he agrees. He glances out the window, where the sky is dark. “We can snuggle tonight?” he offers. “And go to Hell’s Kitchen tomorrow?”

    “Yes,” Wade agrees quickly, his arms tightening around the smaller man. He strokes a hand down Peter’s spine. “Sleep now, little spider,” he murmurs, and Peter settles down against him with a content sigh.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    They head into Daredevil’s territory the next morning.

    Peter wakes up feeling well rested, and the mercenary he’s wrapped around is already awake. They smile at one another, and Peter leans up to press another kiss into Wade’s skin, delighting in the way Wade’s entire face lights up.

    They rise together, exchanging casual touches as they ready themselves for the day’s adventure. Arms brush, fingers touch, and they smile at each other each time their eyes meet. Peter borrows Wade’s shower, and Wade’s eyes turn dark when Peter emerges in a towel.

    Peter blushes, snatching the clothes Wade offers him and fleeing to the bedroom before he gets lost in Wade’s expressive eyes.

    They agreed to go in casual clothes, so Wade’s dressed in a hoodie and jeans. He picks up a pair of huge sunglasses as they leave his apartment, and Peter thinks Wade looks good even when he’s so obviously trying to hide. They catch a cab, and Peter follows Wade through Daredevil’s territory, trusting the man to lead him to the right place.

    They stop at an intersection, and Peter takes a moment to look around. There are people walking everywhere, including a group of teenage boys. As Peter watches, they barrel towards a man in a crisp suit.

    It takes Peter a moment to notice the cane tapping the pavement in front of the impeccably dressed man.

    He’s about to call a warning when Wade puts a hand on his shoulder. Peter pauses, taking Wade’s silent cue to simply watch.

    The blind man, at the last second, moves just enough to avoid being hit. It’s like he _knew_ where they were, knew exactly how to move to avoid them. If Peter didn’t know what the cane and the dark sunglasses meant, he’d say that the man could see perfectly well.

    Wade nods at the blind man in the suit. “That’s the devil,” he whispers, voice so quite it’s basically nothing more than a breath.

    The blind man, though. His head turns, black sunglasses directed at them, obviously _somehow_ hearing Wade’s whisper above the roar of traffic, over the sound of so many people talking. Wade giggles in Peter’s ear while Peter’s spider sense runs a warning down his spine.

    “He doesn’t look very happy to see you,” Peter notes, his voice at a normal speaking level. There’s no point whispering, because apparently the blind guy – Daredevil, in the flesh – can hear them. Plus, it’s _rude_ to whisper. “Come to think of it, people never seem happy to see you.”

    Wade pokes him in the ribs. “You’re happy to see me,” he replies, and Peter doesn’t miss the odd tremble of doubt in his voice.

    “Of course I am,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “But I am, apparently, _special_.”

    “So, so special,” Wade murmurs, and it's enough to make Peter blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Matt gets more screen time next chapter!
> 
> They're going to deal with this issue and then we'll have some fluff and smut, and then this fic is going to be finished. I'm thinking no more than ten more chapters, no less than five. I could be wrong, though. Just wanted to let you know that the end is nigh.
> 
> Don't forget to comment!


	21. Chapter 21

    Peter’s not surprised when the blind man – Daredevil, apparently – makes his way towards them. He and Wade wait patiently, even if Wade’s version of ‘patient’ has him shifting and muttering to himself.

    Peter _is_ surprised when the first words out of Daredevil’s mouth are, “It must be bad, if you’ve come out of your suit.”

    Wade laughs, delighted. “You _have_ to teach me how you do that,” he says.

    Daredevil directs a polite smile at Wade. “Hello to you too, Wade.” He turns back to Peter. “I think this is the first time we’ve met out of costume,” he says.

    Peter almost flinches, but Wade squeezes his shoulder gently and he takes a breath. “I’m Peter,” he settles on. He’d hold out a hand, but he’s not sure if blind people shake. Better to just wait and see what happens. “Peter Parker.”

    Daredevil smiles, and extends a hand. “Matt Murdock,” he replies, and Peter shakes the offered hand.

    “Wade Wilson,” Wade chimes in, voice bright. “Now that introductions are over, we need to talk business, Matty boy.”

    Matt makes a face. “Please stop calling me that,” he says with a long suffering sigh. “As much as I’d like to tell you to leave, I assume it’s serious.” His expression changes, and he looks almost dangerous. “That being said, if this is a waste of my time, I’m kicking you out. We can talk at my office.”

    Matt turns and starts to walk away, his cane tapping in front of him. Peter almost trips over himself when he follows. Wade brings up the rear, and they must make an odd sight as they walk down the street. Thankfully, most people are occupied with their own comings and goings, so no one stares too much.

    Matt leads them to a building, with a side entrance that reads “Nelson and Murdock Law Office”. Peter’s not sure what he’s more surprised by – the fact that Daredevil is a blind vigilante, or the fact that Matt Murdock is a blind lawyer.

    Either way, the blindness isn’t something he saw coming. Maybe he should have - it's not like Daredevil's mask is designed for sight. Besides, didn't he wear a bandanna over his eyes when he first started?

    “My partner won’t be in this morning,” Matt says as they walk up the stairs. “It’s safe to talk here.”

    “Thank you,” Peter replies, nudging Wade pointedly.

    “Yeah thanks, Matty boy!” Wade adds cheerfully. He’s moving around the office, steps obnoxiously loud as he rifles around the room. Peter sighs, watching Wade grab a stapler, sniff it, and then toss it over his shoulder with a muttered curse.

    Matt’s obviously tracking Wade – even if Peter can’t see his eyes, he can tell that Matt’s keeping an eye… No, that’s wrong. He can’t keep an eye on someone – he’s blind. Is there another way to phrase it? Peter chews on his lip, brows furrowed.

    “Would you like to start with why you both came to me?” Matt asks, interrupting Peter’s internal argument. Wade keeps on doing whatever he’s doing, leaving the talking to Peter – for once.

    “We’re looking to stop someone who we know calls Hell’s Kitchen home,” Peter explains. “We think this person knows about my… Second job, as it were.”

    Matt takes a seat, leaning forward to rest his chin on his fingers. “Do you have any evidence?”

    “Just the fact that they’ve been trying to kill Petey-pie in and out of his suit,” Wade replies cheerfully. “I got to kill one of his little henchmen, but I’m of the opinion we need a more permanent solution. Stopping the sickness at the source, or whatever.”

    Matt cocks an eyebrow. “And _you_ agree with him?” he asks, directing the question at Peter.

    “Of course not,” Peter snaps, unconsciously straightening his posture. “Killing is never the answer.”

    “Then why are you with him?”

    Peter falters. “I don’t… I have people I need to protect,” he says, feeling a little lame. Considering the start of his sentence had been "I don't know what to do anymore", he's glad he cut himself off. “I can’t let someone who knows who I am threaten the people I love.”

    Matt looks thoughtful. “They’ve already done that, haven’t they?” he asks softly.

    Peter nods. “My aunt… She’s all I have left. I won’t let her die because I pissed off the wrong people. They fight _me_ , not her.”

    Matt is silent for a long moment. Peter wonders if Matt heard something else in his answer, heard the possessive, protective note in Wade’s voice.

    “Do you have a name?” he finally asks.

    “Black,” Wade replies. “James Black.” He giggles. “Get it? Like James Bond! They even have the same initials… Riiiiight, Justin Bieber.” Wade pulls out a knife and starts flipping it, and Peter knows he didn’t imagine the way Matt freezes, shoulders going tense. Somehow, the blind man knows Wade has a knife.

    In the short time he’s known Daredevil, Peter has come to respect the vigilante. In addition to being a superb fighter – how does that work with his blindness? Is it rude to ask? – Daredevil isn’t afraid to commit. If he needs to get something done, he does it.

    No matter the cost. He's not afraid to hurt people who deserve it, isn't afraid to land his punches hard. Peter's sure there have been several of Matt's enemies that have ended up in intensive care, but he's not sure if anyone has  _died_.

    It's the kind of thing Peter himself can't do, because what happens if someone dies because of him? The guilt would tear him apart, and he knows his city needs him, even if people think he's expendable. So for all that he respects Daredevil, Peter's actually pretty terrified of the man. Where Peter pulls his punches, Matt doesn't. He's been glad on more than one occasion that they're not on completely opposite sides, even if they disagree on the finer points of morality and fitting punishments.

    “I think it would be beneficial for you to act with us on this,” Peter adds. He squirms a little when Matt’s sightless eyes land on him. “I mean, he figured out my identity. What’s to stop him from figuring out yours?”

    Matt smiles at him, and there’s something predatory in that smile. It’s the smile Peter’s come to associate with Wade, the kind of smile you’d see with bloodstained teeth and bodies littered at their feet. Yes, Peter is definitely glad they're mostly on the same side.

    “That would depend on how he found out your identity in the first place,” he replies. “If it’s to do with your being wingless, I have nothing to worry about. Everyone knows that Daredevil has wings – it’s common knowledge that mine are gone.”

    Peter tilts his head. “Your wings aren’t gone,” he says with a certainty that comes from his core. Matt doesn’t feel wingless, and Peter’s instincts aren’t confused like they were with Wade. Matt Murdock has wings.

    Matt smiles again, the shark smile. “You’re the first wingless I’ve come across for a while,” he admits. “I was interested to see if you really _could_ tell, or if it was just a rumour.”

    “How did _you_ know that Peter’s wingless?” Wade rumbles from the corner. His eyes are sharp, but the knife still in his hand is sharper. Interesting question, actually. Why does Peter never think of these very important questions?

    Matt spreads his hands. “I can’t hear wings moving anywhere. Not under your skin, not through the air… Besides, I _can_ hear your scars.”

    Peter blinks. “That’s creepy,” he blurts out, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide with horror. Apparently, spending time with Wade means his filter – which was already pretty bad – is becoming non-existent.

    Wade grins, laughter rumbling from his chest even as he stares unblinkingly at Matt. “You tell him, baby boy.”

    "I'm sorry," Peter says, voice muffled by his hand.

    “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable – I was simply answering Wade’s question.” Matt cocks his head, sightless gaze turning to the door. “Odd,” he mutters to himself, frown furrowing his brow.

    “I thought you said your partner wouldn’t be back?” Peter asks, his own eyes on the door. There’s the creaking sound of footsteps, but from the way Matt is reacting, Peter’s not sure it _is_ his partner.

    Wade’s at his back in a moment, hovering protectively. Peter thinks he should probably talk to Wade about space, but he’s a little worried he’ll say the wrong thing. It’s happened enough times in the past that Peter’s hesitant, but the last thing he wants to do is snap at Wade.

    Plus, he kind of likes the feel of Wade at his back.

    “That’s not Foggy,” Matt replies quietly.

    “I’m guessing neither of you want to fight, huh?” Wade asks. Peter’s sure he’s grinning. “I can fight.”

    Matt shakes his head. “Could be a client.”

    Peter glances at him. “Should we become less obvious?” he asks.

    “Couldn’t hurt,” Matt says with a shrug.

    Peter turns, grabs Wade’s arm, and pulls him into the adjoining room. Wade whines like a child who has been denied his promised chocolate, but Peter has super-strength. He has no troubled pushing Wade the last few feet into the room and closing the door behind them.

    “Don’t make me web you to the ceiling,” he mutters, crouching by the door.

    Wade snorts. “Web me to the ceiling – as if you could, baby boy.”

    Peter cocks an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”

    “Sure. Loser buys the next round of… No he doesn’t drink! Fail, Yellow!”

    Peter spins and smacks him over the head. “Shut up, Wade. Stealth, remember?”

    “Oh right. Stealth. I can do stealth. Remember that one mission in Sri Lanka? Well, okay not that one. Yellow, really? Why would you bring that one up? Also, it was _Las Vegas_ , and you know what that means?”

    “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” Peter mutters in response. The webbing he shoots over Wade’s mouth muffles his reply, but Peter’s pretty sure he’s right.

    Matt issues a polite greeting to whoever walks into his office. There’s the sound of three pairs of feet, and one of them is heading straight for their room. Peter grabs Wade again – who is trying to cut the webbing off his face, the idiot – and hauls them both up onto the ceiling. If they’re lucky, whoever is coming won’t look up.

    The door opens, and a man walks in. He’s pretty average looking, but his wings are rather distinctive – blue and grey barred, the feathers edged in black. They’re really quite beautiful, except for the fact that they brush worryingly close to where Peter and Wade are crouched.

    Wade is frozen at Peter’s back, pressed against the wall and balancing on Peter’s legs. The position isn’t comfortable, and Wade’s weight is considerable, but Peter’s flipped cars before. He can hold out long enough for the man below them to walk out.

    Except… The guy below them isn’t leaving. Apparently, the doorframe is an excellent place to lean. He takes up position beneath them, and Peter mutters a silent curse. They’re stuck until whoever is in Matt’s office is ready to go.

    And Peter really hopes that Wade _stops wriggling_. Because Peter _will_ drop him. And then they can say goodbye to their cover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I feel like I murdered Matt. Forgive any OCness, I watched maybe three episodes of the first season before I got distracted by Flash (and then realized I had to watch Arrow to see how the two of them connected, got halfway through the first season and just... Forgot about it)
> 
> What are you talking about, I'm great with commitment. *cough cough*
> 
> Let me know what you think, I'll hopefully go on a bit of a writing blitz on the weekend - I'm overdue for one, what with working so much I don't really have the time to just let myself go. Fingers crossed!
> 
> EDIT: I realized the "No matter the cost bit" sort of implied that Matt is okay with killing, like Wade (which I admittedly thought he was, but I was corrected!) so I added a little bit extra around there to flesh it out and avoid any "But Daredevil doesn't kill!" discussions.
> 
> Let me know what you think? Again, I'm not entirely happy with Matt, but I hope he's okay <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV change. Introducing Matty boy!

    Matt listens to the sounds of the men in his office. The creak of the floorboards beneath their boots, the sound of denim sliding against metal – all of the men are armed, and one of them just walked into a room with Spiderman and Deadpool.

    This will either end quickly or bloody.

    Wings are out – he can hear the sound of them moving, feathers brushing against each other. He keeps his face pleasantly curious as his fingers curl around his cane. It’s the closest weapon he has, and if this delves into a fight, he doesn’t want to be fighting guns with fists.

    Not that he can’t do that, it’s just not a situation that requires him to go to such lengths. Better to keep his cards close, after all.

    “Our employer is interested in hiring your services,” the man sitting across from him says. “He would very much like to be reunited with his brother, who is currently in jail.”

    “Why is he in jail?” Matt asks. “And why does your employer think we can help?”

    He hears the man’s face stretch into a smile – the kind of smile Matt has learned comes from someone who thinks they’re better than everyone else. His fingers twitch along his cane. Matt always wants to hit that smile from a person’s face.

    “He has heard good things about your firm,” the man replies. “And my employer’s brother was put away without much of a trial. It was all handled very badly – he does not deserve the years he’s spent in jail.”

    Matt gives the man a smile. “Why is he in jail?” he repeats, adding the hint of an edge to his voice that he knows will catch the man’s attention.

    There’s still a man leaning against the doorframe where Wade and Spiderman – Peter – are hiding. He can hear the two of them on the ceiling, pressed into a corner. He’s already decided to help them, because Spiderman – _Peter_ – doesn’t seem like the type to ask for help unless he really, really needs it.

    In fact, he’d be willing to bet that Wade had encouraged him to come ask. Matt can understand the younger man’s reluctance to ask for help – it’s a burden he bears as well, one that he is well aware of. Asking for help means you can’t do it yourself, and if you can’t get it done yourself then you shouldn’t have started in the first place.

    That’s Matt’s way of looking at it, anyway. He’s not sure young Peter would have the same mindset, but it probably wouldn’t differ much.

    “He was accused of cutting off the wings of someone,” the man says.

    In the adjoining room, Matt hears Peter freeze.

    “But he didn’t do it,” the man continues, and Matt makes sure his face is the picture of professionalism even as he internally fantasizes about punching the man in the face. “Falsely accused, and imprisoned for eight years.” The man shakes his head. “A terrible thing to happen to such a bright young man, wouldn’t you agree?”

    “That would depend entirely on if what you’re telling me is _the_ truth, and not _your_ truth,” Matt replies. “If you wanted to, you could twist the story so that it appears in your favour.” He settles back in his chair, bland smile on his face. “We at Nelson and Murdock cannot accept a client without the correct information. You will need to provide us with the records and such before we agree to take the case.”

    A challenge, thrown at the man’s feet. How he responds is up to him.

    “I understand,” the man says. “Until next time, Mr Murdock.”

    The men leave, and Matt is once again alone with Wade and Peter. He waits patiently for them to come back into the room.

    “That delivery was a bit off,” Wade says, bouncing into the room with all the energy of an excited five-year-old. “Hardly sounded threatening at all.”

    “A swing and a miss,” Peter agrees, but there’s something off about his tone. There is no real amusement, and Matt can hear the younger man’s heartrate – too fast for him to be considered calm.

    He’s missed something, it seems. Wade hovers at the other man’s back, wings twitching beneath his skin as he mutters to himself. His hands move through the air, agitated movements that Matt has learned to interpret as Wade wanting to hurt someone.

    The surest way to find out is to ask, so he does. “What is the matter?”

    Peter doesn’t say anything, but Wade starts talking. “The guy, the dude, the stain who wants out? No, you’d best not help him, Matty boy. I plan on having some words with that shit stain. Decidedly not nice words, admittedly, and I know _lots_ of them! Big words, small words, words that stick in your mouth…”

    “Wade,” Peter says, voice soft. Wade immediately stops, his body practically humming with pent up energy. Peter directs his voice towards Matt now, the resignation clear in his voice and the way he shifts.

    “What do I need to know?” Matt asks.

    Peter takes a breath. “I lost my wings eight years ago,” he says. “Four men cut them off. Since I met Wade, there have been multiple attempts on my life. Only recently…” Peter purses his lips, unconsciously leaning towards Wade. “It seems like they’re downgrading,” Peter continues after a beat. “The shots are never at vital areas, and if they are there’s always, _always_ a… pause. A warning. It’s like they don’t want to kill me anymore.”

    Wade’s tensed up, which means that this is news to him. “Why didn’t you say anything, baby boy?” he asks.

    “I didn’t realize until later,” Peter explains. “I’m sorry.”

    Matt allows his face to relax a little. “You’re also much more used to handling things on your own,” he points out. “And you both think the men that left just now are connected to an event that happened to you?”

    “Eight years,” Peter replies. “I don’t think there are many people in prison at the moment for cutting off someone’s wings eight years ago, and the chances of them having someone _here_ who wants them out? Even lower.”

    Matt purses his lips – now that he has most of the facts, he has to admit that it makes sense, in a villainous sense. The part where Peter’s life isn’t being threatened anymore sends a warning zipping down Matt’s spine. Someone accused of de-winging someone else won’t get free on a mistrial alone, but if the person who had their wings removed confesses to being wrong or unsure…

    “They’ll want you to help him out,” Wade says abruptly. Matt almost jumps – the mercenary always manages to surprise him with the quickness of his mind, and Matt needs to remember that even when he’s playing stupid, it really is only _playing_.

    Peter jerks. “I won’t,” he snaps back. Matt’s impressed by the strength of his resolve.

    “If they know you’re Spiderman,” Matt says slowly, “they have leverage. Your identity is your most jealously guarded secret, after all. Not to mention that in knowing you are Peter Parker, they know your family.”

    Wade nods in agreement even as Peter makes a sound of dismay. “So either way, you’re fucked,” he tells Peter.

    “However, if we take the fight to them…”

    Wade’s smile – even if Matt can’t see it – is as sharp as glass. “We take away those options.”

    “I can’t ask you to do this,” Peter interrupts. He’s wringing his hands, his head dancing between looking at Matt and looking at Wade. “This is – this is my problem. I can’t ask you to help, I’m sorry.”

    “I’d help even if you didn’t ask, baby boy,” Wade scoffs, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Besides, I’m all about taking care of important things, and you, baby boy sir, are very important.”

    “I –” Peter starts.

    “I recognise the name, James Black. Definitely not the kind of person I want to see in Hell’s Kitchen.” Matt narrows his eyes. “I could use some help in getting rid of him… Permanently if necessary.”

    “But –” Peter starts again.

    Wade strides forward, and Matt hears the hand in front of him fast enough to bring his own hand up in a quick handshake. “You’ve got yourself a helping hand,” he says, voice bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, but I'm back! If you're also watching "Bound to You", expect an update soon :)


	23. Chapter 23

    Peter is getting rather annoyed at being ignored, if he’s being honest. The urge to smack both men upside the head is strong, but it’s not the polite thing to do and certainly not how Peter’s been brought up by Aunt May. Instead, he takes a fortifying breath before clearing his throat pointedly. 

    Wade is, unsurprisingly, the first to turn, his smile bright. “Are you going to join us, Petey-pie?” 

    “I think we should talk with Tony again,” he says – and as soon as he says it, he wants to smack himself. What a silly thing to say – Wade hardly trusts Tony as it is. Peter trusting Tony more than him – which _isn’t_ what’s happening, Peter swears – will make him even less likely to talk to Tony. He swallows and quickly continues. “As much as I want to help out, I think that we could still use some more help. Better safe than sorry, right?” 

    Wade snorts – and Peter knows he’s not imagining the edge to the sound, the jealousy that Wade is horrible at hiding. But he doesn’t have any reason to be jealous, and Peter makes a silent promise to make Wade see that. Peter’s made his choice, and he has no plans to change his mind. 

    “The longer we wait,” Matt says calmly, “the more time our enemy has to prepare for a potential attack. Catch him off guard, and we have the advantage.” 

    Thinking of people as _enemies_ doesn’t sit right with Peter, but Matt makes a good point. And realistically, Peter knows he’s always _had_ enemies. Being a superhero, it comes with the territory. But usually those enemies are separate to _Peter_ – they’re Spiderman’s enemies, and his alter ego is generally more than capable of dealing with them. 

    Not only are these the first enemies _Peter_ has – and no, he’s not counting Flash, because Eugene was an ass and a bully but he tried to fix himself later, even apologised to Peter – but they’re not necessarily super villains and petty crooks like Spiderman deals with. They’re something _other_ , something new, and Peter is still trying to figure out how to deal with this. 

    “They can’t know we’re going to attack,” Peter argues, only to realize that he’s just told the two men in front of him that he plans to be a part of whatever madness they cook up. He sighs. 

    Wade makes a delighted sound, his wings arching higher. “Team Red!” 

    “But no killing,” Peter warns, making sure he meets Wade’s eyes. “Please,” he adds quietly. 

    Wade hums. “I’ll do my best,” he replies, but there’s a light in his eyes that makes Peter think this is the one time Wade won’t listen to him. 

    If Wade isn’t going to listen to him, he doubts Matt has any reason to, and is therefore not surprised in the slightest when the other man does not respond. He sighs again, shoulders sagging in defeat even as Wade stretches out a wing to brush down his arm. 

    “Cheer up, buttercup,” Wade says cheerfully. “We’ll have the advantage. It’ll be over quickly.” 

    Peter has misgivings, but Wade is the master strategist here, so he nods and keeps his doubts to himself. Matt walks over to his desk pulling up a detailed map of the area. Why a blind man has a map, Peter has no idea, but at this point he’s kind of just… Going with the flow. He’ll put his foot down when the time comes, but he abruptly feels inexplicably exhausted. 

    There’s been so much happening lately – being shot at, Wade, Aunt May being threatened, Wade again – that he hasn’t really had a chance to sit and just _think_. And while he prides himself on acting on instinct when the time calls for it, he’s not entirely sure now is that time. He wants to think, wants to have the opportunity to consider all angles. 

    “Petey?” Wade says, loud enough that Peter jerks to attention. The concern in Wade’s eyes is touching, but Peter gives himself a shake and forces himself to concentrate. 

    “Sorry,” he replies. “I was just thinking.” 

    It’s not a lie, and so it doesn’t register on Matt’s renowned lie detection scale. Peter watches the blind man carefully for a moment before turning his eyes to Wade. He offers the man a smile. 

    “I’m okay,” he assures Wade, and in his head he sighs _I’m always okay_. He’s never really had the luxury to feel not okay, not since becoming Spiderman. 

    “Lie,” Matt says abruptly, turning so that his covered eyes are pointing directly at Peter. “You aren’t okay. Someone is threatening your family, Peter. You have every reason to _not_ be okay.” 

    Peter can’t help it – he jerks his chin up, jaw clenching as he glares. “I don’t have the luxury to not be okay,” he snaps back, aware that he’s probably overreacting but not caring enough to stop. “And there’s nothing anyone can do about it until this is over. So how about we stop worrying about how I’m feeling – which is _okay_ – and get on with it?” 

    There’s a pause, a stillness in the room. Wade snorts quietly, probably in response to whatever the voices in his head have said, and extends both of his wings to rest alongside Peter’s arms. It gives the illusion of safety, and Peter is more than happy to step back into Wade’s embrace. 

    The times of Wade’s wings triggering his panic attacks are gone, it seems. They feel more familiar to him than he thinks his own wings would have. 

    “Petey bites when he’s angry,” Wade muttered. “Gotta remember that.” 

    “I’ll do worse to you,” Peter retorts, but there’s no bite to his tone. 

    “Now that that is settled,” Mat says, looking as though he’s just stepped into some sort of unexpected soap opera moment and wishes he could leave, “we should get back to planning.” 

 

* * *

  

    The plan is unexpectedly simple – Wade tells them all they have to do is get in, and he can take care of the rest. 

    Peter doesn’t like it, especially because he’s going in with Matt. As in, Matt the lawyer. Not Daredevil. He’s playing the role of Matt’s assistant, which means he’ll also be playing Peter – instead of Spiderman. 

    “Are you sure?” he asks Wade. He can’t stop fidgeting – he’s anxious and nervous and altogether not ready, considering this plan is taking place right the fuck now. 

    He and Matt are ready to go, and Wade has assured them he won’t be too far behind, easily able to come to their aid if they need him. Matt is a little way off, giving the two of them the illusion of privacy. 

    “Of course I am, baby boy! Surer than sure. You just watch, everything will sort itself out and we’ll be aces. No, not asexual, that won’t happen.” 

    “And you promise this will be over once this is done?” Peter demands. It’s unfair of him, he knows, but he’s just so tired. He’d give anything to be back to how things used to be. 

    Something about Wade’s mask softens, and he reaches up a hand to run down Peter’s cheek. The gentle touch is somehow startling, but Peter leans into it anyway. 

    “I promise,” Wade says, and Peter doesn’t think he’s ever heard the mercenary so sincere. 

    They don’t say anything else – Peter feels like anymore words will ruin the moment, and Wade obviously feels the same because his voice is absent for the time it takes them to arrive at James Black’s place of residence. Thankfully, they hadn’t had to search him out – the men who had come to Matt’s office earlier had kindly left a business card on Matt’s desk. 

    "There has to be another way," Peter murmurs through stiff lips. "I can't... I can't do this." 

    Matt surveys him quietly. They are only a few steps away from the doorway that will ultimately lead them to the man who has been threatening Peter's life, has threatened the life of his aunt and destroyed any semblance of control he thought he had. He had thought he was willing to do anything, but his hands are shaking and there's a cold sweat beading across his forehead. 

    "Have you thought of another way?" Matt asks quietly. "Because if you have, I'm sure Wade would be more than happy to listen to your suggestion." 

    Peter shook his head. "I can't think, but I can't do this. I'm not a killer. I can't stand by while something like this happens." 

    Matt's wings shift beneath his skin, and Peter knows the movement was designed to catch his attention. So far, he hasn't seen the other man's wings twitch once, and the level of control over them seems to reflect the control he has over every aspect of his life. 

    "I understand that this isn't the way you would usually do things," Matt says, "but the only way for us to ensure that your identity isn't compromised any further is to ensure Black's silence." 

    Peter nods – he understands that. "But there has to be another way to keep him quiet," he points out a little desperately. "We shouldn't have to kill him." 

    Matt looks thoughtful. "For some people, that is the only way they can be stopped. They can't be reasoned with, their silence can't be bought..." 

    "There has to be another way," Peter repeats, biting his lip. "I just... Can't think." 

    "Maybe you should just trust Wade," Matt offers. "He knows you, and I don't doubt the strength of his feelings for you. If you don't want him to kill someone, he won't." 

    Trusting Wade sounds like something Tony would scoff at, but Peter nods anyway. If he's committed to this relationship, if this relationship is going to work... 

    Peter takes a breath and watches Matt knock on the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I AM ALIVE!
> 
> Sorry for such a long delay, I got so stuck on this chapter it's not even funny. The amount of times I wrote something and then deleted the next time I looked at it... Either way, it's here now and I've started the next chapter, which will hopefully not take anywhere near as long as this one.
> 
> Once again, I apologise for how long this took to get to you, and I hope you enjoy.


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